


The Dollhouse

by VincentMeoblinn



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal, Angst, Doesn't Happen, First Time, Frottage, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Medical Kink, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, Oral, Pining, Pocket John, Pocket Lestrade, Polyamory, Rimming, Smut, Virgin Sherlock, mentions rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VincentMeoblinn/pseuds/VincentMeoblinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reichenbach AU - Sherlock reverses a machine he had been working on- to enlarge atoms for analysis- to shrink down the people he cares about and hide them from Moriarty. After two years in virtual isolation John and Greg are desperate for a little loving... and some big loving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was a three story Victorian house, which was raised up on four bricks, which sat on top of a dresser in front of a window. John and Lestrade had their rooms on the third story, divided by the staircase entrance and hall, the bathroom and Mrs. Hudson’s room were on the second, and the sitting room and kitchen were on the first. The front porch could be sat upon- and had lovely rocking chairs and a porch swing- but you couldn’t leave it because it sat directly on the windowsill and took the entire casing up. The side door, however, led out onto a 1’x1’ square tray garden (this was the reason for raising the house rather than raising the dresser) full of grass- which never was allowed to grow more than two inches tall- and a few flowers for shade; and of course you could always just walk down the ladder onto the dresser itself if you needed room for a jog, to walk the dog, use the computer, or just get away from your housemates for a bit. The house itself was full of the highest end doll accessories: plush furniture, electricity, some plumbing, and three fireplaces. They lacked a working stove, but had a homemade charcoal grill on the porch made from a tin can and some wire.

This hadn’t all happened at once, of course. First Sherlock had shrunk them down to about seven inches tall (give or take a few cm) and stuck them all in a shoebox with some holes, padding, and wads of tissue. Then he’d shipped them to the Continent; they still weren’t sure where they were, but it was cold most of the year and their window looked out on a downward slopping, rocky, wooded area that didn’t even have mail delivery. Then they’d been unpacked by Molly and placed in a very empty dollhouse that had arrived at the same time they had. Their first beds were tissue boxes with half the tissues removed and they had no electric or running water. Then Molly had gone shopping and come back with a catalogue for them to pick things from. John and Lestrade had been too angry and had refused to so much as look at Molly or the catalogue, but Mrs. Hudson dove in with enthusiasm and soon had the house furnished. She and Molly decorated it next, painting or papering the walls and putting up the electric strips that would allow them to plug the lamps in and get some power.

It wasn’t until Sherlock had arrived some weeks later that they had anything besides small containers of water and bits of food Molly had prepared. He took a look at their utilitarian house and began modifying the toy toilets and sinks with actual tiny plumbing. A large water cooler jug beside the house supplied the kitchen and bathroom sinks, shower, and tub with solar heated running water. Another jug on the floor functioned as a septic tank. He built their grill with Lestrade since he was the most excited about using it, and planted the garden with Molly. John didn’t start speaking to Sherlock again until the man figured out how to make a tiny refrigerator. Once he had fresh food to eat without having to wait for Molly to come round and feed them he was far less frustrated. The beer wasn’t a far shot away from soothing him, either.

Aside from their water source, John’s laptop was also on the dresser, and left on at all times for them to tap out internet searches with a bit of curved wire and watch shows. The downside was that it was so very _public_. One couldn’t simply watch some porn and toss off. In fact with the entire house open to the room there wasn’t very much privacy at all. They each had their own room and had lots of little folding screens- two in the bathroom, one in front of each of their beds, and a curtain around the shower- but that was a far cry from real privacy when every breath could be heard throughout the entire ‘house’ and possibly the sitting room of the cabin their ‘house’ was in. The cabin, apparently, belonged to someone named Sigerson, but Molly lived in it and Sherlock visited occasionally.

Overall, Mrs. Hudson was thrilled and loved their home to death. She tidied up and cooked and watched her shows on the laptop, which she could see through the sitting room window and called her ‘picture window’. She missed her friends, so she drove John and Lestrade mad in turns and chatted cheerfully with Molly whenever she wasn’t running errands or doing experiments for Sherlock. The dog was their only constant companion besides each other and Molly, a shaggy thing named Toby with a dubious pedigree who had been Sherlock’s only successful shrinking experiment before he’d shrunk them down to ‘protect them from Moriarty’.

John and Lestrade were, as mentioned above, slowly going mad. They could catch games on the laptop, talk to Sherlock about his hunting down of Moriarty’s gang, and _very_ quietly wank in their beds, but they missed women, looking at women, watching porn, and even just getting shot down in bars. They missed going out with friends and being vulgar, which was absolutely impossible in ‘Mrs. Hudson’s house’. After an entire year without female contact Molly was quickly becoming their only masturbatory fantasy, and she never showed herself in anything except her full day clothes. Which was why when Lestrade knocked on his door one night, John wasn’t the least bit shocked at their conversation.

“Listen, John,” Lestrade whispered, sitting down on the edge of John’s bed, “It’s you or the dog, and I’m not desperate enough for bestiality yet.”

“Yeah, okay, so… rules?”

“We don’t discuss it, not with each other or anyone else.”

“Agreed, and we don’t discuss who or what we thought about.”

“Done, and we don’t cuddle afterwards or get sweet on each other day or night. This is just stress relief. That’s it.”

“Fantastic. Now?”

“Gods yes.”

They were on each other like animals, but at the first creek of the bed the both winced and moved more slowly. Mrs. Hudson’s lovingly made bedcloths were slowly stripped off and hands were run across needy, lonely flesh. They both wordlessly agreed on a mutual wank, stroking each other off while snogging like needy teenagers. Lestrade came with a heated grunt, gripping John’s thigh tightly; John followed soon after with a gasp of relief. They sagged in the bed, rolling onto their backs and staring up at the canopy ceiling. John had the curtains to his bed drawn to minimize sound and keep the warmth in. After their frantic mutual pleasuring it almost felt hot.

“I can go again in an hour, you?” Lestrade asked.

“Mm-hm.”

“Right, I’m gonna walk a bit, then. Get a beer. You want one?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Right. See you in an hour.”

John cleaned himself off with a torn off piece of tissue and then climbed back under his covers. His mattress was firm but comfortable, especially considering it wasn’t meant to be slept in by a _real_ person. His blankets were soft and lovely. His room was huge, his bed fit it perfectly, and his furnishings were tasteful and comfortable; especially his favorite chair near his reading lamp where he indulged in miniature copies of classic books or just stared out the window. The house was the nicest he’d ever lived in, but it was a prison.

Sherlock didn’t understand. Sherlock had _saved their lives_ , he insisted. He’d snatched them up, shrunk them down, and mailed them to safety and their very own mansion of indulgence. When John had tried to explain that they needed more privacy and that he and Lestrade had needs, Sherlock had been completely confused. He pointed out that their lives were more important and they could get back to pulling women once Moriarty and his web were well and truly destroyed. John knew he had a point, but that didn’t give him any comfort as the weeks turned into months, and the months into years.

Now, however, he was sleepless for another reason besides sexual frustration or claustrophobia; now he was facing a redefinition of his own sexuality. For Lestrade this might have been a release with the only available sexual partner in miles, but for John it was eye opening. He’d been lusting after Sherlock for eighteen months before he’d been shrunk down; the culmination of his fantasies being one in which Sherlock threw him down and ravaged him at the pool rather than simply saving him. He’d always denied being attracted to men, that Sherlock was an exception, but tonight had been… breathtaking. Lestrade’s hands on his body had been a thousand times more erotic than the touch of any woman, even when comparing it to carnal or anal sex with a female partner. He’d felt more aroused, the _smell_ alone had been more erotic, and Lestrade touched him the way his previous partners had never dared- the way a man would touch himself. John still would have preferred Sherlock, if only because he was hopelessly in love with the bastard, but Lestrade was quite attractive for a man his age and had been keeping himself in great shape (out of boredom) of late. If he hadn’t waltzed in and asked for it John likely would have thrown himself at him sooner or later.

A rap at his door reminded him that said person was coming back for more and John answered it rather than call out since he could hear Mrs. Hudson’s snores from her second floor bedroom. He gave the man a wicked grin and tugged him back into the bed, determined to make up for the year of celibacy. They snogged again, and took more time to grope each other this time. When Lestrade lined their cocks up to rut against each other, John eagerly wrapped his legs around the man’s waist and threw his head back in bliss. He bit his knuckle to keep from crying out and gripped Lestrade’s arse with his free hand.

“Oh, fuck that’s so good,” Lestrade whispered, thrusting harder.

The bed creaked and Mrs. Hudson snorted from downstairs. They both froze, breathing shallowly and trying not to sob in frustration. After several minutes her snores resumed and Lestrade gave two more quick thrusts before John’s eyes rolled back in his head in pleasure and he spurted between their bodies. Lestrade whispered another curse, thrusting eagerly into the hot, wet body beneath him, and came with muffled cry against John’s shoulder.

“Oh gods, oh gods,” John panted softly.

Mrs. Hudson stirred again and John felt like weeping in frustration. Lestrade sighed and slipped off of him. He tore off a piece of tissue and cleaned himself up, passing some to John as well.

“Tomorrow night?” Lestrade whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Night, John.”

“Night.”

His door shut and John rolled into his pillow to breathe in the man’s scent from his brief stay. His bed felt twice as empty as it had the night before.

[CHAPTER TWO](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/8423.html)   



	2. Chapter 2

John was the one who took it up to oral. Lestrade crawled into his bed unannounced one night after nearly a week of showing no interest and John all but pounced on him. The second he felt the man’s hard-on through his sleep pants he’d moaned and slid down to tug his pants off.

“Shhh! The old bag’ll hear you!”

“Don’t fucking care. Want to suck you off.”

“Fuck!” Lestrade breathed in awe.

John licked him and suckled on the tip until he got used to the taste and felt brave enough to start sucking on him properly. Lestrade came almost immediately after a barely audible whispered warning. John swallowed his spunk down with a heady moan.

“John? Is everything okay, love? You sounded like you were in pain,” Mrs. Hudson called as she knocked at his door: his door that _didn’t lock._

“Fine! Everything’s fine!” John called out.

“Are you sure? You’re not ill?”

“Perfectly fine.”

“I know how you doctors can be-”

“I’m having a wank!” John shouted.

Lestrade clapped both hands over his mouth and shook with laughter while Mrs. Hudson gave a startled squeak and hurried back down the stairs. To his horror, Molly opened her bedroom door and peered out.

“Did one of you holler?” She whispered, “Is everything okay?”

“Sorry, Molly, that was me. Everything’s fine. Sorry,” John replied.

Lestrade was in danger of hyperventilating and took refuge under John’s pillow. He was still shaking with laughter several minutes later so John pinched him cruelly.

“Ow, fuck!” He hissed, still giggling madly, “You’re barmy, you know that? Why didn’t you say it was a nightmare?”

“This house is driving me mad. Hurry and jerk me off, I’m fit to blow.”

“What, still?”

“I sucked _you_ off, not the other way around. I may have enjoyed it, but I’m not _that_ gay. I still need a bit of help along.”

Lestrade’s laughter died and John looked up at his sobered expression with a guilty swallow.

“Gay now, are you?” Lestrade asked, his tone sounding betrayed as he tugged up his trousers.

“Maybe. A bit. What does it matter? It’s still either the dog or me. Or Mrs. Hudson.”

“Don’t make me sick or you won’t get that wank,” Lestrade snorted.

John’s erection had hardly softened, and a few quick tugs brought it back to achingly hard. Lestrade didn’t kiss him this time, and turned his head away when John tried to initiate a kiss, muttering about not wanting to taste his own come. John settled for closing his eyes and imagining it was Sherlock tossing him off since Lestrade felt a bit distant. He came with a soft moan and ignored Mrs. Hudson’s horrified noises from below.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Lestrade replied, hurrying out of the bed.

John had a feeling it _was_ a problem, but he didn’t press the issue.

It was another several weeks before Lestrade got desperate enough for human companionship to slip into John’s bed again. He, of course, wanted to be sucked off again and John was more than willing. He’d enjoyed the feel of Lestrade’s thick shaft in his mouth, especially the texture of the spongy head as he ran his tongue around it and teased his way beneath the foreskin. Lestrade was soon panting with desire and John was shamelessly humming around his cock.

Which made it the perfect time for the front door to open, the lights to fly on, and Sherlock Fucking Holmes to walk in.  
  


[CHAPTER THREE](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/8469.html)

  
 


	3. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 3

Despite the fact that they couldn’t be seen, Lestrade stiffened in alarm and tried to push John’s head out of his lap. John, however, was instantly painfully aroused by the very fact that Sherlock was in the room. He had one hand in his sleep pants jacking himself off as fast as possible and was using the other to keep Lestrade’s hips still while he sucked him furiously.

“You turn that light off this instant, young man!” Mrs. Hudson scolded, “Decent folks are trying to sleep!”

“Judging from the sounds in John’s room, I doubt much sleeping is going on,” Sherlock snorted.

John came at the sound of Sherlock’s voice, moaning hungrily and swallowing down Lestrade’s come as the man was overwhelmed by John’s enthusiasm and bucked into his mouth while swearing loudly.

Mrs. Holmes made a scandalized noise, “At my time of life…!”

Sherlock snorted, though whether it was at his and Lestrade’s antics or Mrs. Hudson’s declaration John had no idea. What he was aware of was Lestrade pushing him away, tugging up his trousers, and bolting for his own room with a bright red face. John had come inside his pants, however, so a tissue wasn’t going to do the trick. He decided to get up, shower, and wash his clothes himself.

“Well it’s good to see you two have solved your ‘female’ problem,” Sherlock stated calmly, walking up to the dollhouse and smirking at Lestrade as he scrambled (judging from the sounds) into his bed.

“Don’t say ‘female problem’ Sherlock! That means something completely different!” Lestrade scoffed.

John exited his bed and started down the stairs, shamelessly wearing his soiled clothing with a fresh pair of boxers and sleep pants over his arm.

“Hello, Sherlock. Are you going to free us anytime soon?”

“Not yet, no. I’m afraid Moriarty and Moran are still eluding capture. With his right-hand man still at his side Moriarty is practically invincible.”

“Maybe if you had _your_ right-hand man you would have less trouble,” John pointed out as he stripped off his sticky pants and dumped them into the tub where they did their wash.

John hopped in the shower, not bothered by Sherlock’s lack of response, and was soon showering the mess off his front. He rubbed his flannel over the bar of soap propped against the wall just outside the shower and gave himself a judicious scrubbing. He dried off and donned fresh bottoms before giving his clothing a more thorough scrub, wringing them out until his muscles burned, and hanging them in the open bathroom window. He pulled on his shirt and a robe and was heading back to his room when he noticed Sherlock standing beside the house and frowning at him.

“What now?”

“You told me you weren’t gay.”

“You told me you don’t date.”

“Apples and oranges. My statement is truth and yours is clearly a lie.”

“It wasn’t at the time,” John replied, “Needs must. Greg’s available and no one else is. It isn’t anything but release. He feels the same.”

“Really boys, you know I don’t mind, but I don’t need the _details_!” Mrs. Hudson complained from her bedroom.

“ _I’m_ available,” Sherlock stated with a clearly jealous frown, and John’s cock gave a noble effort to rise again.

“You’re cock’s likely taller than I am. Fix me and I’m yours.”

Sherlock frowned again, and shook his head, “I can’t take the risk of you being killed. You, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson are all I have. I won’t risk you. Not for anything.”

“Not even for a blow job? Apparently I’m fantastic at them,” John teased, then called upwards, “What do you think, Greg? Natural talent?”

“No comment!” Greg shouted.

John chuckled and climbed the stairs to his room, pulling open the bed curtains and flopping down on his bed. Sherlock wandered off to do whatever the hell Sherlock did when he came to the cabin. He spent most of his time in a room to the right of Molly’s, which was apparently a lab. A few minutes after Sherlock slammed the door, Lestrade came clamoring into the room again.

“Back for mo-“

Lestrade shoved John down onto the bed, but his intentions were clearly not amorous.

“Fuck you!” He snarled angrily, “I’m not a fucking queer, and I’m not your sex toy! Next time I push you off, you _fucking let go_.”

“I didn’t… I thought… I wasn’t…” John stammered, completely taken off guard. He’d barely registered Lestrade tugging at his hair, “Gods, Greg, I’m so sorry! I never meant to…!”

“Shut up!” Lestrade gave his shoulder’s another firm push into the mattress for intimidation sake and then stormed off.

John lay in his bed and shook. He was overwhelmed with guilt, disgusted with himself, and horrified at his behavior. Eventually he worried himself sick, bolted downstairs, and was spectacularly ill, feeling some relief at having purged his stomach of Lestrade’s spunk. He went back upstairs and spent the night tossing and turning in misery.

The next morning Mrs. Hudson was subdued and anxious, Lestrade was sullen and silent, and John took his breakfast and tea to his room to eat. By the afternoon it was obvious that something had to be done to make their lives bearable with the new awkward change so John hollered until Molly and Sherlock showed up and demanded they either be given separate houses in different parts of the cabin, with the openings facing out, or measures be taken to give them actual privacy within their own house.

“Locked doors and some sort of sound proofing would be a _great_ start,” John snapped.

“Somethings happened,” Sherlock frowned, "you lot are avoiding each other more than usual."

John looked away guiltily and Lestrade slammed the front door, hiding on the porch. If anyone wanted to see him they’d have to peer through the cabin window from outside. Mrs. Hudson tackled the laundry with a nervous passion.

“John, did our discussion about sex last night upset Lestrade?” Sherlock asked.

“No, my raping him did,” John replied waspishly.

“That’s hardly a funny joke,” Sherlock replied with a frown while Molly looked alarmed.

“Which is probably why _no one_ is laughing!”

“I was _not_ raped!” Lestrade shouted, “John just… got out of hand.”

“He tried to push me off when you walked into the cabin and I didn’t notice and kept going.”

“I thought you were giving him head, not buggering him.”

“I was.”

“What the bloody hell is he complaining for? If you stopped giving me head when I was nearly to climax I’d slug you.”

John couldn’t stop the smirk that twitched his lips.

Lestrade stomped back into the house, up the stairs, and into John’s room without even knocking.

“See? Locks!” John snapped, but didn’t fight it when Lestrade gripped his arm painfully and dragged him downstairs and onto the porch.

“I’ve apologized. I’m trying to make you more comfortable. I don’t know what else I can do,” John sighed.

“Shut up.”

“Done.”

“I’m sorry,” Lestrade whispered.

“What? No! No, you’re not to blame. You’re the victim…”

“Shut _up_. I was freaking out about they gay part, not you giving me a fantastic blowjob and not stopping when I panicked. So _I’m_ sorry, mate. I was just… trying to get control back. I shouldn’t have been an arse to you, I’m sorry I used the word ‘queer’, and I don’t want you to feel guilty about this.”

John didn’t know how to reply so he shrugged and looked out the window, “It’s… what it is. What do you want?”

“I dunno,” Lestrade shrugged and leaned on the porch rails, “I liked what we were doing, I’m just not excited that you’re a bloke.”

“I can’t exactly change that.”

“I know, but I can be more tolerant. We’re all we’ve got right now. I shouldn’t have blown a fuse just because you’re enthusiastic in bed.”

“I still should have stopped…”

“You didn’t notice,” Lestrade said with a wave of his hand, “It’s not like I screamed ‘no’ or ‘rape’ or something.”

“So we’re… okay?”

“Yeah.”

John smiled and let out a relieved breath, “I still want some fucking privacy around here, let me tell you!”

“Yeah, and I’m not about to tell Mrs. Hudson we’re okay because I’m liking the way she’s avoiding us both.”

“Me, too. Gods, that poor woman. At least we have each other- in whatever way you want that to be- she’s got no one.”

“She’s got Molls. We don’t exactly spend time with her unless we’re trying to get a glimpse down her shirt.”

“Mmm, yeah, remind me to ‘drop’ something again.”

“Oh yeah,” Lestrade drifted off in fantasy and John happily grinned at that fond memory.

[ CHAPTER FOUR ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/8837.html)


	4. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 4

John woke up to Sherlock puttering about the cabin’s sitting room. He was setting up a sawhorse and had various other tools out.

“Making our place a bit more private?” John called out.

“Yes.”

“Can I help?” John shouted.

“Nope.”

John shifted from foot to foot a moment and then decided he might as well get on with his day. Lestrade and John had left their secluded spot on the balcony and re-emerged to find everyone waiting anxiously to find out if there was going to be more trouble. Sherlock had immediately opened his mouth and demanded if they’d ‘kissed and made up’. Amongst the laughter and horrified stares _that_ had evoked, John and Lestrade got it across that they weren’t upset with each other anymore and that it had been a misunderstanding. They still, however, wanted more privacy. Or to be returned to normal size, but their earlier escape attempts had apparently convinced Sherlock that keeping them tiny was safer.

“Are you and Lestrade still in a relationship?” Sherlock asked.

“I dunno. It wasn’t a relationship to start with. We aren’t a couple, it’s just shagging.”

“It isn’t shagging!” Lestrade snapped, “Mutual masturbation! That’s it!”

“John mentioned oral,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Only on his part,” Lestrade snapped.

“Oh, that’s fair!” John griped, but his heart wasn’t in it. He’d probably feel neglected later, but right now just having a man’s hands on him was exillarating.

“I’d be willing so long as it won’t cause you two to fight again,” Sherlock decided.

“To what? Go down on me?” John snorted.

“If you’d be willing to reciprocate, yes.”

“Sure, when are you going to fix me?”

“No,” Sherlock replied calmly.

“Well then I guess I’m stuck with Lestrade and his hand,” John shrugged, heading into the bathroom to relieve himself.

“Oi! My hand is pretty damn fantastic!” Lestrade shouted from upstairs.

“Care to put it to use?” John called back.

“It’s freaking daytime, John!” Lestrade called back, clearly scandalized.

“Oh, sorry,” John mocked, “Didn’t realize we were fourteen.”

Mrs. Hudson came out of her room and gave him an amused, but embarrassed, look as they both headed downstairs. When John turned back towards the open side of the house it was to find Sherlock curiously peering in at him.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock! You’re a giant to us, you know. You nearly scared me half to death!” John gasped, having jumped backwards, “How do you move so bloody silently!”

“Watch your language, young man!” Mrs. Hudson scolded, “It’s one thing to talk filthy in bed at night, but this is a too nice a house to be spewing out that gutter talk!”

“I’d like to borrow John for a moment,” Sherlock stated calmly.

John nodded and stepped off the edge onto Sherlock’s hand, dropping to his knees and clasping his thumb for support. Sherlock stood, very carefully, and carried John into… the bathroom? John blinked at his new surroundings. He’d seen the room once during an escape attempt, but had never actually been in here.

“What’s up, Sherlock? If this is about Lestrade…”

“It isn’t. Well… not exactly. Would he become jealous if we were intimate?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m just a hand and a mouth to him… well, a friend, too. Sherlock, you keep mentioning being intimate, but it simply isn’t _possible._ I’m six and a half inches tall!”

“Yes, and my penis is seven and a half, you’ve mentioned the proportions before. It can still be done and I’m interested.”

“Okay. Why? What about your work that you’re married to? You don’t strike me as the cheating type.”

“John…” Sherlock sat down on the closed toilet lid and frowned deeply for a moment as he collected his thoughts. His hand was resting in his lap and John eyed the bulge of his trousers nervously. He both wanted and feared Sherlock’s touch. He knew it would consume him as the man always did in everything he was a part of.

“Sherlock, are _you_ jealous?”

“No,” Sherlock replied, “I have no difficulty sharing you with someone I also care about.”

“That’s… good…”

“John, I consider you part of my work,” Sherlock stated firmly, answering his previous question, “And not just because Moriarty has dragged you in or because you are my blogger. You breathed new life into my work and gave it more meaning to me on a completely different level. I miss you every day. I hate that you aren’t there to bounce ideas off of or field people for me. I hate that the skull doesn’t snap back at me when I talk to him. I miss you and I want to make you happy.”

“That’s… wow. Okay. I miss you too… a-and going on cases with you,” John stammered, flushed at Sherlock’s confession. He knew what it had taken for the man, though it had been delivered in perfect monotone with no sign of ‘sentiment’ on the man’s face.

That flew out the window, however, when Sherlock smiled at him in relief, his shoulders relaxing a bit. John smiled and gave the man’s thumb a squeeze.

“So I’m sure you’ve got this worked out somehow, you always do. How do we go about satisfying each other while I’m smaller than your dick?”

“Satisfying you should be fairly easy so long as I’m careful not to apply too much pressure,” Sherlock stated, making John wince, “I on the other hand will require some patience. This is not the ideal location for that, but I’d like to touch you.”

“Well I’m sure as hell not going to say no,” John laughed.

“Drop your bottoms then, and lay flat on my hand with your legs spread.”

John did as told, his cock already firming in anticipation. Sherlock smiled at the sight and reached a thumb and forefinger down to ruck up John’s shirt. He swirled said finger around John’s nipples and he hissed in surprise.

“Too hard?”

“Just… sensitive. I don’t usually get touched there. Women ignore them for the most part.”

“Mm.”

Sherlock took some time to caress John, seeming to explore his body and appreciate it despite its diminished size, and John was soon panting with desire.

“On your hands and knees,” Sherlock purred, his voice heavy with lust.

John moaned, rolled over, and stuck his arse in the air, not fighting it when Sherlock nudged his legs apart. He doubted Sherlock had anything he could stick inside of him, but he wouldn’t put it past the detective to have a miniature dildo stashed somewhere. John was both excited and terrified at the idea of being penetrated for the first time. So focused was he on that thought, that even Sherlock’s hot breath on his backside didn’t prepare him for the swipe of a tongue across his cleft.

John yelped and jumped, then stilled and gasped as Sherlock repeated the motion, and then moaned in bliss and pushed back as the man once more slid that hot, slick muscle across his entrance. Once Sherlock had experimented with pressure on this less-tender area he folded his tongue and pressed it between John’s thighs. Sherlock’s tongue moved in and out of his mouth, fucking John’s thighs while John mindlessly humped the man’s tongue; his cock, bollocks, and even his arsehole- as he thrust back against the swell of his tongue- were all being stimulated at once. John was making all manner of obscene noises, trying to hold off his orgasm so he could enjoy this beautiful feeling for a longer period of time. Nothing, _nothing_ could possibly feel better than fucking Sherlock’s tongue while the man’s sweet-smelling breath curled around him. John was panting and dripping with sweat, his entire body flushed with desire. When he finally came crashing over the edge he did so with a scream of pleasure and then simply collapsed on Sherlock’s hand.

John smiled weakly as Sherlock’s full lips pressed a kiss to his bare backside. Sherlock shifted and John looked over his shoulder to see him adjusting his erection inside his trousers.

“There’s nothing I can…?”

“Later. Tonight. I want to savor it and now is not the time. Here, rinse off in the sink and we’ll get you dressed again.”

Sherlock helped John bathe in the curved porcelain sink and then gently and tenderly dried him off. He passed him his clothes and John dressed in a dreamlike state. He was sure he had a ridiculously goofy grin on his face when Sherlock set him down beside the breakfast table, but he wasn’t about to wipe it off his face for anyone or anything. Sherlock went back to sawing wood and John lazily ate breakfast and sipped his tea.

There was nothing quite as lovely as morning sex.  
  


[ CHAPTER FIVE ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/9198.html)

 


	5. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 5

Towards the afternoon Lestrade nervously sought John out.

“So, I guess you’re off limits now? With Sherlock, eh?”

“Oh, ah, no. Actually he was pretty specific about being fine with you and I doing whatever together.”

“Oh, that’s… okay… then… now?”

“Um, only if it’s for you alone. I’m meeting Sherlock tonight and I want to be able to _fully_ enjoy it,” John smirked, “Doubt I can come three times in one day at my age, so I’ll have to pass. I can suck you off again, though.”

“Yeah, I… I was actually thinking about something else. Maybe… uh,” Lestrade looked uncomfortable and glanced around their newly enclosed home to see if Mrs. Hudson were nearby. Sound didn’t carry nearly as well, but it was still possible to overhear someone accidentally.

“She’s outside getting some sun,” John provided, nodding towards the porch.

“Great. Uh. I’dliketofuckyouinthearse.”

“Sorry?”

“I’d like to fuck you. In the… well, you know.”

“Oh…” John’s mouth went dry at the thought and he had to swallow a couple of time.

“Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“No! No! It’s… gods, I want that, I really do, but…”

“But?” Lestrade asked, his pupils blown.

“I don’t know. This sounds stupid, but I kinda want to… ah… have Sherlock be my first,” John blushed.

Lestrade snorted, then quickly sobered his expression, “Sorry, John. That’s understandable… I wouldn’t want to sully your virtue before your husband got to pop your man-cherry.”

“Piss off!” John laughed, chucking a couch cushion at him.

“You’ve heard that quote by Lennart Meri? ‘Security is like virginity: you’re either a virgin or you’re not. You either have security or you don’t.’,” Lestrade pointed out with a grin.

“We have far too much security,” John sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“And you’ve had far too much sex to be a virgin, even if you’re arse has never been plundered.”

“Plundered?!” John laughed until his sides hurt.

Lestrade took advantage of his hysteria to slip closer and the moment the man composed himself he leaned forward and devoured his mouth. John giggled into the kiss for a moment, but was soon moaning eagerly as Lestrade cupped his groin and stroked him to hardness. They were snogging full out when the door opened and they quickly separated like naughty teens.

“If you two wanted more privacy I _might_ suggest you take it to your rooms?” Mrs. Hudson scolded lightly, though she was smiling.

John stammered an apology and bolted, Lestrade laughed outright and proudly walked past her with his erection tenting his trousers. Mrs. Hudson gave his bottom a slap as he walked past and he gave her a flirty wink.

“Oh, go on with you! Teasing an old woman like me! At my time of life!” She laughed.

“I bet there’s still some spark left in you,” Lestrade snickered.

“Not for a filthy man like you there isn’t!” Mrs. Hudson laughed, shaking a finger at him, “Away with you!”

Lestrade chased John up the second flight of stares, laughing and pinching his bottom until they toppled onto Lestrade’s bed and recommenced their make-out session. Lestrade had pinned John down and was rutting against his groin slowly as they both enjoyed the feel of each other’s mounting pleasure.

“Your cock is so fucking perfect,” John moaned, reaching into his trousers and giving the heavy organ a firm squeeze.

“I bet you tell that to all the tiny men you bed,” Lestrade smirked, nipping John’s neck.

“Wanna suck you off,” John panted, trying to scoot lower.

“Wanna fuck your tight arse,” Lestrade growled, trying to turn John over.

They wrestled a moment, turning serious as Lestrade tried to convince John he wanted to be mounted.

“I’ll make it so good, John,” Lestrade panted, stroking John’s heavy dick with one hand while he tried to flip him over with the other. John was trying to stop his strokes with both hands, but was too weakened by desire to do so.

“Greg, please… stop. I want… I need.”

“What do you need, John?” Lestrade asked, licking a strip up his neck.

“Sh-Sherlock…” John gasped, and summoned enough strength to flip them over.

John pried Lestrade’s hand free of his own cock and swallowed the man’s down in one smooth motion. He gagged a bit, but Lestrade was too busy fucking his mouth to notice. John was glad he’d put a hand in place to block his cock from going down his throat, but now that he’d felt it once he was curious to try again. John eased from four fingers wrapped around the base of Greg’s cock to three. Once he’d managed that he switched to two, gagged a bit, and then swallowed convulsively as Greg came down his throat.

“Oh fuck! Yes! YES! Oh, fuck, Sherlock!” Lestrade cried out, and then sagged back down into the bed.

“Who?” John asked, looking up in amusement.

“Hm?”

“You said Sherlock.”

“Wha-? No I didn’t.”

“Yeah. You did.”

Lestrade flushed and looked guilty.

“Shit, John, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t _care_ , I’m just surprised, is all,” John replied, giving him an amused look, “You always think of him?”

“N-not really, but you had said his name earlier, so…”

“Makes sense,” John nodded, “He’s got the most _amazing_ lips.”

“Fuck, yeah, he does. Damn, there goes my heterosexuality.”

“Hm, I think Sherlock might have vaccinated us against that or something,” John laughed.

“I’ve… I’ve been with men before,” Lestrade admitted guiltily, “Not since Uni, but… still.”

“Really? What was it like? Did you bottom? Did it hurt?”

“It was sex, is what it was like. No, I didn’t bottom. We never er… got that far. Just lots of other stuff.”

“Like what we do?”

“And other things.”

“Like what?”

“Intercrural.”

“What’s that?” John asked eagerly.

“Fucking someone’s legs,” Lestrade shrugged.

“Oh, I’ve done that,” John shrugged, “On a woman. Didn’t know there was a word for it.”

“Yeah, well, now you know. So what _are_ you and Sherlock going to do tonight?”

“Hell if I know,” John shrugged, “But if it’s anything as good as what he did to me this morning I’m game.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

John and Sherlock ate dinner together in his lab; since it turned out he didn’t actually have a room in the cabin. His lab did have a cot, a side table, and a chair beside that. John sat on the arm of the chair- he could barely reach the table, but it worked- while Sherlock sat on the bed. Sherlock rattled on about how his search was going for Moriarty and his men and flirted prettily with John, who found himself slipping back into his usual pattern of praises and admiration.

“I’ve missed this,” Sherlock admitted.

“So’ve I.”

Once dinner and dessert ended there was an awkward pause which Sherlock broke in true Sherlockian fashion.

“Would you like to have sex now?”

“Yes, please,” John replied with a grin.

Sherlock dropped his trousers and pants without further ado, and John stood up on the chair, climbed onto the table, and eagerly crossed to where Sherlock was stretching out on his back. The man started to unbutton his shirt, but John stopped him.

“Let me? I know it will take ages, but I’ve been dying to undo your shirt for twice as long.”

Sherlock nodded mutely, and John jumped down onto the pillow and scrambled across to Sherlock’s shoulder. He knelt on his chest and leaned forward to press kisses along his collarbone. Sherlock laughed and squirmed so John gave up on the foreplay. Instead he forced each button through its hole, pushed the shirt further apart, and worked his way down the detective’s chest.

By the time he reached Sherlock’s stomach and flung both sides of the shirt free, the man was panting and trembling a bit. John was relieved to find his attention had been arousing rather than laughable. John turned and faced the prick leaking against Sherlock’s abdomen. He crawled forward and pressed a kiss to the slick head protruding from the foreskin and then ran both hands across the tip.

Sherlock groaned and arched his back, and John leaned against his cockhead to keep his balance, lathing his tongue across the slit and pressing his face inside it. He imagined this it was almost like rimming, proportionally speaking, and set about eating out Sherlock’s cock with gusto.

“Oh my gods, why didn’t I think of that?” Sherlock gasped, but his cock was twitching away from John, who couldn’t get the leverage he needed to hold it in place.

“Not working as well as I planned.”

“Strip. You can tackle it from a different angle… literally.”

John tugged his clothes off and Sherlock eagerly slicked his cock up with lube.

“This may be tricky,” Sherlock replied, “I’ll have to steady you.”

John leaned against Sherlock’s hand and straddled Sherlock’s cock as if it were a horse. His legs could just barely wrap around the thickest part, but he was settled just below the head. Sherlock wrapped his fist around the base of his cock and held that thumb up beside John to steady him if needed. John instantly saw what Sherlock had in mind and began to thrust his hips, rubbing his own aching erection along the soft underside of Sherlock’s cockhead. Both men moaned eagerly and John braced his feet against Sherlock’s belly and began to thrust in earnest. He reached his hands up and stroked the cockhead, teasing it and pulling the foreskin back to stroke the sensitive spots beneath it. He slipped a slick finger into Sherlock slit and the man bucked unintentionally while crying out in pleasure. John gripped his legs and only managed to stay on because Sherlock’s thumb was beside him pressing into his thigh almost painfully.

The two men found a rhythm, John leaning forward and grinding his cock and heavy balls into Sherlock’s slick flesh while stimulating the man. He employed his trick with his fingers several more times, earning shouts of pleasure each time, though Sherlock was better at restraining his thrusts after that.

“I feel like you’re fucking my cock,” Sherlock moaned in bliss.

“I _am_ fucking your cock. I’m fingering you and earlier I was eating you out. Once I’m the right size again, I’m going to swallow you down and guzzle your come like a beer bong.”

“Oh gods!” Sherlock shouted, and John felt his cockhead swell impossibly.

“Then I’m going to roll you over, fuck your arse with my tongue, finger your prostate till you’re hard again, and ride your cock until you come screaming inside me.”

“John!” Sherlock shouted, and came in torrents across his stomach and chest.

John got a face full of spunk and nearly choked on it, but leaned back before another spurt could catch him. The feel of the hot sticky mess dripping down his torso drove him wild, and he bucked against Sherlock harder until he too was moaning out his pleasure. Sherlock’s cock softened and John slid down him and dropped onto his belly, lying in a pile of come and enjoying the smell of sweat, sex, and Sherlock.

“I’ve never been so glad to have had my eyes shut before,” John chuckled, wiping at his face to clear the mess before it got into them.

“I’ve never been so glad to have my eyes _open_ ,” Sherlock breathed, “You look fantastic with my ejaculate dripping off of you.”

“Thanks, but a tissue would be nice,” John snickered.

He was handed a corner of the bedspread and wiped himself off on that before glancing up at Sherlock.

“It’s a bit ironic,” John smirked, “I was just discussing intercrural sex with Lestrade today. Had no idea I’d be having it later.”

Sherlock smirked, “I suppose that’s _technically_ an accurate term.”

“I’ve never… been… ah…” John stammered.

“Penetrated anally,” Sherlock provided helpfully as he wiped himself clean.

“Yes, that. Lestrade wants to. Would that bother you?”

“Not in the slightest. I never have, either.”

“Oh!” John replied in surprise, “Have you topped, then?”

“Once in Uni, but I found it unsatisfying. My partner passed out halfway through and I was uninterested in continuing.”

“That’s… unpleasant. You two were drunk?”

“No, he was diabetic. I called an ambulance.”

“Well that’s unromantic.”

“A bit, yes, but I didn’t hold a grudge.”

“Kind of you,” John smirked.

“Our friendship was never the same, though,” Sherlock reflected, “I think he was embarrassed.”

“I’d be, too,” John nodded, “He was okay, then?”

“Oh, quite. Mix up with his medicine. I got the pharmacist arrested to show him I held no ill will towards him for our botched encounter.”

John laughed and asked for the full story, which Sherlock went into great detail with. John ended up falling asleep in the crook of Sherlock’s arm, listening to the man’s heartbeat as he laid reading beside him.

[ CHAPTER SIX ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/9242.html)

 


	6. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 6

The next day Sherlock left without so much as a goodbye and John locked himself in his room and sulked. Lestrade battered on his door, but John wasn’t to be pulled out of his funk; not even when Lestrade managed to climb up on the porch roof and made a rather poor attempt to get to the third story through John’s window.

“Piss off! I’m not sucking your cock today!” John shouted before slamming the window shut again.

He pinched his finger. Of course he did. And got a giant fucking splinter, too. That ended John’s isolation, and he stomped into the bathroom to soak in a hot bath since they didn’t have any tiny tweezers to pull the splinter out with. He stayed in there an hour, refilling the bath as it cooled, and sulked some more. Once he finally managed to work the splinter out he calmed a bit and finally left the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson was in the kitchen downstairs cutting up a giant, freshly baked biscuit.

“Slice of biscuit, dear?” She asked, holding up a pizza-shaped slice with a giant molten chip protruding from the top.

“Yes. A thousand times, yes,” John replied, diving on it eagerly.

“I thought that might cheer you up,” She smiled warmly, “Now you just put Sherlock and his antics out of your mind; he’ll come back to you and he’ll come back whole.”

“Thank you,” John smiled, sitting down at their little table and enjoying his first meal of the day.

“Some milk?”

“Please.”

They ate in companionable silence, Lestrade joining them and carefully tiptoeing around John until he flashed him a smile and the man relaxed.

“Why do I let him get to me?” John finally asked the room at large, “I mean, why was I even thinking that sex would change things between us? That I’d be treated as more than a piece of furniture?”

“He abducted and shrunk us to keep us safe, you think we’re furniture to him?” Lestrade gaped.

“Well…”

“Sherlock loves you, John,” Mrs. Hudson soothed, “It couldn’t be more obvious.”

“I suppose,” John conceded, “What was so hard about telling me he’d be leaving? I woke up in my own bed after falling asleep in his arms; that I can handle, but having to hear from Molly he was gone? He couldn’t even leave a note? A post-it? Anything?”

“He’s an arse, but he’s a good man despite that,” Lestrade replied, ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s scolding about his language, “I’ll keep your bed warm while he’s away.”

John rolled his eyes at Lestrade’s lewd wink and ignored Mrs. Hudson’s giggling.

“Gods, I’m the Dollhouse slag,” John groaned.

“John Hamish Watson, I won’t condone you talking about yourself like that!” Mrs. Hudson scolded, “You have two fine gentlemen, that’s hardly enough to make you trollop.”

“He’s a man, that would make him a troll,” Lestrade laughed teasingly.

“I’m a soldier, that would make you a dead man,” John retorted.

Lestrade bolted for the doorway and John was after him like lightening. They were laughing and carrying on, going up the stairs and towards Lestrade’s room where he tried to shut John out, but the doctor managed to get to the door before it shut and they ended up shoving at it until Lestrade gave up and John toppled through the doorway onto his face.

“And now I ravage you!” Lestrade announced, and sat on John’s hips to pin him to the floor.

“In the doorway?” John laughed as Lestrade started prying his top off.

“Mrs. Hudson isn’t dumb enough to come up here now she knows we’re going at it.”

“Still a doorway. Didn’t we just have the ‘not a slag’ conversation? Take me to bed and woo me, detective inspector.”

“Ooo, titles is it? Very well, _Captain_ Watson, let’s adjourn to my bed so I can woo your pants off… literally.”

Lestrade helped John up and they bolted for the bed, jumping on it like teenagers and laughing as they tugged their clothes off.

“I want you to… I want you in me,” John stammered, laughing at himself, “But we need lube for that.”

“What do you think I used before we started up on this?” Lestrade scoffed, and pointed towards the chest at the foot of his bed.

John walked towards the chest and opened it up to reveal that it was half-full of lotion.

“Fucking hell, Greg! You couldn’t have shared?”

“I assumed you’d asked for some, too. Molly gave it me when I told her I had dry skin but didn’t want to ask every night before bed. She found that chest and squirted some in for me.”

“Clever bastard,” John snickered, grabbing a handful.

John dropped to his knees on the floor in front of the chest and began to work the first digit inside, hissing as he did, “It’s been waaay too long since I last did this.”

“That’s… wow…” Lestrade growled, stroking himself as he watched John work his fingers in and out of his arse.

“Mph,” John replied, or tried to. He’d just found his prostate and it had made his hips jerk forward and his cock bounce.

“Does that… does it feel _good_?” Lestrade asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“You think people would do it if it didn’t?”

“I thought they just didn’t have a choice, you know. Gays.”

John snorted, “Lots of other options… and don’t call us ‘gays’… and by us I mean you, too.”

“John, long as you let me fuck you, I don’t care _what_ you call me.”

“Mmm, good, cause I’m gonna call you _so_ many names,” John panted.

“You’re enjoying that too much, get up here and let me do you.”

John had worked himself up to three fingers, the fullest he’d ever been, and realized Lestrade was right. If he kept it up he’d come before he even reached the bed. John slipped his fingers free and climbed up to Lestrade, dropping to hands and knees.

“There, now you can pretend I’m Sherlock again,” John teased, winking at him to show he didn’t mean it.

Lestrade gave his arse a sharp slap, “You’re too fat to be Sherlock.”

John snorted and Lestrade lined himself up, John decided to add a warning, “Go slow, yeah? S’my first time, remember?”

“Mmm, yeah, gods, you’re tight,” Lestrade groaned as he pressed inside slowly.

“Oh, fuck,” John gasped, trying not to clench as Lestrade’s cockhead popped through his first ring of muscles, “Sorta burns a bit…”

“You want me to s-stop?”

“Mph, no, just… hold still a moment.”

They both stilled, Lestrade panting a bit and John taking slow, deep breaths.

“Okay. Go ahead,” John whispered.

Lestrade pulled out a bit and then pushed in farther until John felt his bollocks pressed against his own. John moaned in relief, but asked him to stop again when he went to pull out.

“John… fuck… please…” Lestrade gasped, “I’m not gonna last as it is.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Lestrade pulled out and pressed back in, but he hadn’t lied about being close. A few thrusts later, just as the burn had eased and pleasure had started to build, Lestrade stilled and grunted out his orgasm. John groaned in frustration. He’d only just hardened again!

Lestrade pulled out with a contented sigh and flopped down on the bed.

“Ah… forgetting something?” John asked.

“Oh, yeah…” Lestrade wrapped a hand around him and tugged a bit.

“No, uh-uh. I want head.”

“Shit, John, I told you before…”

“I just let you fuck me in the ass, Greg. I think I’ve earned a blowjob.”

Lestrade looked rebellious, but finally nodded and John lay back while the man climbed in between his legs. He gave John’s cock a disgusted look then leaned down and took the tip in for only a few seconds.

“Greg, _please!”_

“I’m working on it!”

Lestrade swallowed convulsively, took a few deep breaths, and then started to suck on John firmly. John moaned and forced himself not to thrust up into the warm heat surrounding his cock. He didn’t want to discourage Lestrade by choking him. John was building rapidly again, but he couldn’t quite get over the edge with the rather unenthusiastic job Lestrade was doing.

“Can you f-finger me?”

“Your arse?” Lestrade asked in surprise, popping off him a moment.

“Yeah, just… try to find my prostate. Move your finger around until… hell, you’ll know when you hit it.”

Lestrade gave John a confused look and then slipped a finger in, watching with growing interest as his digit disappeared inside John’s hot, wet body. John moaned and when Lestrade hit his prostate he cried out and bucked off the mattress.

“Again!” John gasped, gripping his cock and stroking it hard as Lestrade used two fingers to go at him enthusiastically.

“Sir, yes, sir! Now this is what I’m talking about,” Lestrade growled, and had John writhing on the sheets in pleasure.

“More! Fuck! Yes!” John cried out, and then dug in his heals and arched off the bed as he came in thick ropes across his chest and stomach.

“Fucking hell!” Lestrade gasped, rescuing his crushed fingers when John finally sagged back down, “Maybe I _will_ try the bottom.”

“M’too tired,” John replied, and dropped instantly to sleep.  
  


[ CHAPTER SEVEN ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/9693.html)

 


	7. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 7

“Sherlock! Oh, fuck, oh gods, those _curls!”_ John gasped.

“Very funny,” Lestrade griped.

“Your skin is so pale and gorgeous!” John moaned.

“Bugger off!”

John shook his head, laughing happily, “You should have seen your _face_.”

“That was days ago, why are you still on about it?” Lestrade groaned, “I said I was sorry.”

“Greg, I don’t _care_. I’m just pulling your leg. Listen, I think of him, too. Constantly.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Gods, I love him,” John sighed, “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

“Only if I am, too. It would be easier if he weren’t so utterly…”

“Brilliant? Beautiful? Sensual? Compelling? Enigmatic?”

“I was going to say commanding.”

“Oh, you like commanding, do you?” John smirked, “I was a captain, you know.”

“John, you’ve already got my _literally_ undivided attention.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want more. If you’ve got a military kink…”

“I’ve got a ‘Sherlock bossing my arse around’ kink.”

“It is incredibly erotic. I think I’ve got that kink, too.”

“I thought it drove you nuts when Sherlock bossed you around?” Lestrade wondered.

“Yeah, but it drives me wild when he orders _you_ around. It’s utterly sinful how many crime scene’s I’ve been hard at.”

“You and me both,” Lestrade chuckled.

“I kept trying to put it off as a danger kink…”

“Sherlock _is_ a danger kink!”

They both laughed and clinked cups, downing another drop of whiskey, which counted more as a shot at this size. Lestrade coughed loudly, then cleared his throat miserably.

“Still coughing?” John asked.

“Yeah.”

“I told you whiskey wouldn’t help.”

“My family has been curing what ails them with whiskey for _generations_!” Lestrade declared.

“Well, I suppose it is nice to never _remember_ being sick.”

Lestrade burst out coughing again, and John shook his head, “Lean forward, and let me see your throat.”

He examined him for several minutes, and leaned back with a smirk, “Do you also have a medical kink?”

“Maybe,” Greg snickered, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Well maybe if I play doctor for a bit…”

The door to the cottage flew open and John and Lestrade both scrambled from their seats to bolt out into the ‘yard’ where Toby was yapping happily at a snow-covered Sherlock. Sherlock dumped the top layer of his clothes on the floor in a heap and shouted into the room at large.

“Molly! Tea! Cocoa! Hot water! Anything! It took me six bloody _hours_ to get up here!” Sherlock threw himself down on the couch and proceeded to sneeze multiple times. Molly came bursting out of her room but John and Lestrade shouted at her until she stopped before touching Sherlock.

“ _Don’t touch him!_ ” They shouted, waiving their hands frantically and jumping up and down.

“They’re right, don’t come near me,” Sherlock sniffled, “Just get me something and put it nearby.”

“Why?”

“Because if they get sick it could be catastrophic,” Sherlock explained, “That’s why I tell you to be careful and wash up whenever you go into town- and to do that rarely.”

“What could a bit of the common cold do to them?” Molly worried as she put the kettle on in the kitchenette.

“The common cold, probably nothing, but anything requiring medical treatment could do lasting harm at the very least. Why do you think I’m so worried about them leaving their little house? A simple broken bone John could likely set, but a fracture? Something requiring stitches? An illness that requires antibiotics?”

“I’ve no way to know how to dose us,” John elaborated, “I tried doing the math, but our weight is so low that even a mouse’s dose of penicillin could either poison us or do nothing, and who knows how our metabolic rate has changed with our size change. We’ve no way to test it first. That’s why Mrs. Hudson’s hip has been being treated with simple willow bark tea. It’s easier to measure out and steep tea than it is pills. I’ve thought of growing my own penicillin, but…”

“It’s risky at best,” Sherlock nodded, “Thankfully, however, what I have really is just the common cold. I should be over it in a day or two. In the mean time, I’d rather not spread it on the basis that weakening your immune systems might allow something else to creep in.”

John nodded somberly and Sherlock accepted his hot tea and staggered off to bed.

“Still have a medical kink?” John asked Lestrade miserably.

“Nope,” The DI shook his head.

“Garlic is a natural antibiotic,” Molly pointed out, “Maybe I should get you some when I’m out next.”

“Definitely no medical kink,” Lestrade pouted.

“That would be a help if one of us got sick,” John nodded, “Along with a few other natural remedies I’ve heard of.”

“Make me a list,” Molly nodded and John went to the computer to tap out an e-mail to her.

Lestrade followed along behind him and slipped his arms around his waist while he struggled with the bit of metal they used to type things into the computer.

“I hate this already, don’t make it more difficult,” John griped.

“Let’s look up porn.”

“Mrs. Hudson would literally _die_.”

“She gets to watch her soaps on here, why can’t we use it?”

“Because that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“She can go in the kitchen and we’ll keep the volume low.”

“Oooor, we could webcam Sherlock and get him to order you around. Preferably in a way that involves my newly-cock-loving arse,” John suggested and Lestrade stiffened… in more ways than one, and John chuckled in amusement, “Of course, that’s all hinging on if you can get Molly to take Mrs. Hudson for a little walk, too.”

“Oh, gods, you’re cruel, really cruel. Really… fuck I want you now,” Lestrade groaned, palming John’s growing wood through his trousers.

“Best get Mrs. Hudson out of the house then.”

Lestrade swore, adjusted himself in his trousers and went to find Mrs. Hudson. John finished tapping out his ‘grocery list’ and e-mailed it to Molly’s mobile. Mrs. Hudson started calling for her shortly after and Molly came out to hear Mrs. Hudson cheerfully requesting they have a ‘girls night’ and watch a movie in her room while the boys had a ‘boys night’ in the dollhouse. Molly was ecstatic and told Mrs. Hudson she’d get popcorn, crisps, and chocolate ice cream when she got John’s supplies. Grabbing her gear and keys she hurried out the door with a promise she’d be back in three hours.

“How could it take her three hours to get down and back and Sherlock six just to get up here?” Lestrade wondered.

“Because when Sherlock has to put an effort out for something‘boring’ while sick it takes him three times as long,” John snickered, “There. I finished typing out a message to him. Hopefully he’ll responds… otherwise I’ll just have to put out without his sultry voice to…”

Sherlock’s door flew open, “I’m in. When?”

“Molly will be back in about three hours, then she and Mrs. Hudson are going to watch a movie while you Skype us,” John explained cheerfully.

“Oh, will Sherlock be joining you on your boys time?” Mrs. Hudson cooed as she walked out onto the ‘lawn’ with some food for Toby (one giant-to-them kernel of dog food).

“Uh, yeah…” John muttered while Lestrade grinned from ear to ear and nodded his head enthusiastically.

Mrs. Hudson narrowed her eyes at them and then rolled them and waved them off, “I don’t want to know.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Mrs. Hudson and Molly headed into her bedroom, giggling like schoolgirls while John tapped out the site for them both. They were in their housecoats and had dragged the sofa out the door and set it up with pillows like a boudoir photo set. They were snickering at their ingenuity and placing bets on whether or not Sherlock would get the joke when the call came through. John clicked the window open and grinned at Sherlock’s bare chest and smirking face.

“What are you two giggling about?” Sherlock grinned.

“We’re men, we don’t giggle, we _guffaw_ ,” Lestrade announced firmly; John giggled and Lestrade elbowed him, “Except for this tosser here.”

“Oi, you love my tossing,” John giggled again, dropping down into the couch and crossing his legs effeminately.

“John, you’re behaving strangely,” Sherlock frowned.

“He’s hamming it up because he’s a bit pissed and he missed you,” Lestrade teased, shoving him lightly.

“That rhymed!” John laughed.

“More than a bit pissed,” Lestrade corrected.

“Does this fall under those ‘taking advantage of someone’ things…” Sherlock wondered.

“No, he consented _before_ he got sloshed. Now let’s take advantage of him,” Lestrade grinned, rubbing his hand together.

“So I’m to order you to do various things to him?” Sherlock clarified.

“Yeah, and I have to follow your every command,” Lestrade replied with a lurid wink.

“Well in that case I believe the standard starting point is restraint. Lestrade, tie John’s wrists together above his head. Use the sash from his robe.”

“No! No! Don’t!” John laughed in fake protest, flailing as Lestrade sat on him and wrestled the tie from his waist and attempted to tie it around his wrists.

“No, Lestrade,” Sherlock sighed, “That won’t hold someone military trained like John, not even while drunk. Do exactly as I instruct: grab the left hanging end, wrap it beneath the loop you’ve got there, back around towards the top…”

“I can’t believe you’re hard from this,” John snickered.

“Shut up,” Lestrade growled.

“I thought Sherlock was giving the orders,” John purred, rubbing his hips against Lestrade’s hard-on.

“Focus!” Sherlock snapped, “Honestly! I thought _I_ was supposed to be the inexperienced one regarding sex. Lestrade! Around his left wrist once more and tie it off! John! Get serious or I’m shutting this off and wanking without you two idiots!”

“Now who’s hard?” Lestrade whispered.

“Fuck,” John panted.

“Fuck his face, Lestrade,” Sherlock growled.

John was watching the screen up until Lestrade commandeered his face, and was drooling over the sight of Sherlock running his hands over his chest and tweaking his nipples. Then Lestrade straddled his head, leaning forward and gripping the armrest above John’s head. He slid his cock down John’s eager throat while the man moaned hungrily for it, lathing his tongue across the tip while he still had the chance. Then he was gagging on Lestrade’s thick member, though the man eased up immediately and took up a shallow thrust instead.

“Deeper,” Sherlock growled, his voice like chocolate.

“He’s choking…”

“He’ll get over it, just go slowly.”

John focused on breathing through his nose on the glide up and swallowed convulsively around the head of Lestrade’s cock on the down-slide.

“Oh, gooooods,” Lestrade moaned.

“That’s enough, kneel between his legs,” Sherlock ordered, his voice soft and deep.

Lestrade groaned on his way out of John’s greedy mouth and moved down his body to kneel between his trembling thighs.

“I’ve never been so aroused in my life,” John panted.

“Same,” Lestrade groaned, stroking his aching cock.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Sherlock growled, the sound going straight to both men’s cocks.

John and Lestrade groaned and Sherlock smirked wickedly at them, giving a finger a lick and twirling it around one of his nipples.

“ _Please_ lower the camera when you start wanking,” John whimpered.

“No! Don’t,” Lestrade begged, “I wanna see his face when he comes.”

“You’re assuming I’ll let you see anything. Behave yourselves and I’ll consider it. Now… Lestrade you will suck a mark into John’s neck.”

Lestrade dove for John’s throat, groaning in misery when Sherlock barked at him to stop grinding his hips. He hovered a few inches above John’s body, the tip of his cock touching John’s thigh and leaving a puddle of pre-come matting the hair there. John arched into the painful/pleasure of his suction and groaned, barely restraining himself from writhing beneath him.

“Scratch Lestrade’s back,” Sherlock panted, “Drag your fingernails down his back and _scratch him_.”

John clawed Lestrade’s back with his bound hands and the man arched, unable to restrain himself as he pressed into John’s fingers. Lestrade released his neck, threw his head back, and gasped Sherlock’s name.

“His nipples. Lick them,” Sherlock ordered in a gravely voice.

“S’torture,” John whimpered as Lestrade ran his tongue around his nipples in circles until they were hard.

“ _Suck_ them,” Sherlock panted, giving his own nipples a firm pinch and shifting a bit in his chair.

Lestrade suckled John’s nipples firmly, flicking his tongue over them until John’s hips were twitching feebly.

“His hips. Lick his hips, right around those love handles.”

“I have _not_ got… _oh fucking hell_!!” John cried out.

Lestrade had taken one of John’s love handles into his mouth and suckled it a bit before licking up his side, and then gliding back down to lick between his hip and groin.

“Ohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgodsohgods!” John babbled loudly.

“The fuck are _they_ getting credit for?” Lestrade grumbled.

“Lestrade is right, John. Shout his name,” Sherlock replied in a bored tone.

“Greg!” John cried out, arching into the man’s talented mouth as he flicked his tongue in the dip on the other side of John’s torso.

“Detective Inspector,” Sherlock corrected.

“D-detective Inspector!”

Lestrade groaned and made a hesitant move towards his cock with his hand before aborting it at Sherlock’s annoyed tone.

“Bloody hell, _when_?” Lestrade demanded.

“When I _allow_ you to.”

“Fuck!” John gasped, his cock twitching and dripping pre-come onto his belly.

“If you come off him ordering me _alone…”_

“You’re driving me insane!” John gasped, bucking his hips up and managing to hit Lestrade’s face with his cock, “Just _suck_ me already!”

“No,” Sherlock replied when Lestrade glanced pleadingly towards Sherlock, “Now sit up and… how recently have you two bathed?”

“Half hour ago,” Lestrade replied, giving the camera a confused glance.

“Suck on his toes,” Sherlock ordered.

“Ummm,” Lestrade replied, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah, Lestrade, suck on my toes,” John growled.

“ _You_ have a toe fetish?” Lestrade asked in shock.

“I have a Sherlock making you uncomfortable fetish. Suck. My. Toes.”

“Mmm, I think I like John ordering you about, too, Lestrade. We should reverse this once you’re both the right size again. Now… Toes. Suck.”

Lestrade lifted John’s foot, gave it a cautious sniff, gave John a relieved look, and sucked on the tip of his big toe.

“Harder. Whole toe. Run your tongue between his toes.”

John moaned, humping the air as Lestrade sucked on his toe the way he _needed_ him to suck his cock. He watched as the man’s eyes widened in surprise and then he tongued between his toes and John gasped and clutched at the couch cushions. Lestrade got daring and gave the bottom of his foot a nip, which earned a groan of approval from Sherlock and a cry of excitement from John.

“Rim him,” Sherlock gasped, his arm moving suspiciously off camera.

“Wh-what?” Lestrade asked, his eyes going wide with horror.

“Rim him,” Sherlock hissed, eyes narrowed threateningly.

“I… I…” Lestrade looked down at John, his eyes wide in horror, “I can’t… I’ve only just… I was…”

“Eat his arse or I turn the camera off.”

“Fuck, okay. Yeah. Can he roll over?”

“Yes, fine,” Sherlock sighed in frustration, “But quit stalling, you’re killing this for me.”

John rolled over and presented his ass for Lestrade, who swallowed nervously and leaned forward hesitantly. He made several false starts while John shivered beneath him in anticipation and then quickly swiped his tongue across the crack. John whimpered.

“ _Very_ good,” Sherlock praised deeply, “Now grasp his cheeks, spread them, and _eat him out._ ”

Lestrade groaned in frustration then parted John’s cheeks, surprised when he bucked back a bit and gasped.

“What?”

“Feels good,” John panted.

“I haven’t done anything yet.”

“ _Air_ feels good.”

“You’re wonky.”

“I’m fucking _horny_ and I… _fuck!”_

Lestrade swiped his tongue across John’s arse, glad he’d held him firmly as he bucked convulsively. He was relieved that there was no unpleasant taste, so he gave it another swipe out of pure curiosity. John was moaning and whimpering miserably as he bucked and gyrated his hips in desperation. He’d never been touched so intimately- and that included being fucked. Lestrade’s tongue was hot and wet, stimulating nerves that he hadn’t known he’d had until that very moment.

“ _Yeees,_ ” Sherlock breathed, shifting in his chair again.

“Oh, gods, Sherlock!” John cried out, “Greg! Fuck me! Please! Oh, gods, I need to be _filled_!”

Sherlock and Lestrade both moaned deeply and John cried out and nearly came from the overwhelming pleasure as Lestrade moved from hesitant to enthusiastic and suckled his pucker before thrusting his tongue inside.

“I’m gonna come!” John warned raggedly.

“Stop!” Sherlock barked out, and Lestrade pulled back with a gasp of arousal at the man’s deep, powerful voice, “John, tell Lestrade once you’ve calmed down. Lestrade get your cock lubed and your fingers ready.”

“Yes, sir!” Lestrade growled, diving for the bowl of lube he’d put out and slicking his cock up before making sure three fingers were liberally coated.

“Then stick them in your own arse,” Sherlock growled.

“W-what?” Lestrade asked.

John groaned, “Making it a _lot_ harder for me to calm down here!”

“Do it, Lestrade,” Sherlock growled, “I want to see you fuck yourself on your fingers.”

Lestrade stared at his fingers a moment and then hesitantly reached back, while steadying himself with his other hand on the back of the couch, and stroked the index finger around his pucker. He bit his lip nervously.

“ _Please_ let me watch,” John whimpered.

“No. You’re to calm down,” Sherlock scolded.

“I’m calm!”

“No you aren’t. You can’t lie to me, John. I know you _completely.”_

Lestrade pressed a finger in and hissed in discomfort but was soon relaxed.

“Next finger.”

“I’m not ready y-“

“ _Next. Finger.”_

Lestrade whimpered and slid the second in, “Oh, that wasn’t so bad.”

“Keep going.”

Lestrade thrust two fingers in over and again until Sherlock ordered him to add a third, then he pressed it in and hissed, stilling in surprise.

“Slowly, Gregory,” Sherlock purred, using his first name to sooth him as he whimpered a bit.

Lestrade gained a bit of courage and began to thrust again. As he relaxed more he began to push back until he was able to thrust against his fingers as well and moaned softly.

“John, roll over. Sit up. Make sure you’re still hard,” Sherlock ordered. John struggled a moment, used his teeth to free his hands, and rolled onto his back to give his cock a few quick strokes, “Lestrade, facing me. I want to see your face when you find your prostate.”

“Bloody hell,” John hissed as Lestrade straddled him backwards.

John held his cock up with one hand while guiding Lestrade backwards with one hand grasping a cheek open. Lestrade slid down John’s slick cock, holding his breath as he did and bearing down just a bit until he was fully seated. They both stilled and John whimpered at the tight heat around his aching cock.

“Ride him,” Sherlock purred.

Lestrade shifted to get his knees under him at a decent angle and then shifted up and slid back down. He grimaced uncomfortably, tried again, and then shifted back at Sherlock’s insistence.

“Further. Lean back against John’s chest.”

“If this couch were any smaller…” Lestrade growled.

“Fuck you’re tight!” John gasped, gripping Lestrade’s hips to give him more support.

“Don’t come, John,” Sherlock ordered.

“M’ trying,” John groaned.

“Oh my gods!” Lestrade gasped, and began bucking up and down fast, his head thrown back, face flushed, and eyes wide in shock.

“Fuck!” John cried out, squeezing his eyes shut to keep himself from coming.

Lestrade’s body was exploding with pleasure, his cock aching for release as his bollocks tightened up with remarkable speed. He was close to the edge, panting and writhing as John grasped his hips and thrust up into him as he dropped down.

“John!” Sherlock gasped, “Come now!”

John cried out and came hard inside of Lestrade who swore and gripped his cock.

“Not you!” Sherlock snapped, “Just John!”

“Fuuuuuck!” Lestrade sobbed.

John went limp beneath Lestrade’s body and Sherlock ordered Lestrade off of him.

“Open him up and fuck him. Hard and fast,” Sherlock snarled, leaning forward eagerly.

Lestrade scrambled off of John, grabbed his ankles, and dragged him onto the couch. He lifted one of the doctor’s legs and pressed a slick finger inside, quickly stretching the man until he was able to press inside. John barely needed time to relax into the intrusion, his body was so lax from his orgasm, that Lestrade only paused a moment before lying across him and taking him urgently.

“Joooohn!” Lestrade moaned, breathing in his lover’s scent.

“Mmm,” John moaned contentedly, enjoying the full feeling and the pleasured grimace on Lestrade’s face.

“Yes! Harder! Come inside him!” Sherlock growled, stroking himself faster.

“Wanna see you come,” John moaned, glancing back and forth between the two men as Lestrade pushed himself up on his hands.

“I’m close,” Sherlock panted, pushing the chair back so they could see him from the calf up.

John’s jaw dropped. Lestrade turned his head and froze at the sight.

Sherlock had his legs spread wide, a string of anal beads peering out from between his white cheeks. While the two men watched in mute lust he lifted one leg up onto the bed and slowly tugged the string out of himself, making small sounds of pleasure with each bead that slipped free, all while stroking himself hard. His head was thrown back in pleasure and he came with a strangled cry, his seed spurting across his pale chest. John moaned at the sight, clenching unconsciously. Lestrade thrust hard twice and came with a startled grunt, his eyes rolling back in his head as pleasure took his breath away for several seconds.

“Fuck! Breathe Greg!” John shouted, gripping his shoulder a moment.

Lestrade gasped in a breath and collapsed on top of John, his arms and legs shaking.

“That was brilliant,” John breathed, wrapping both arms and one leg around the heaving man above him.

“Quite lovely,” Sherlock agreed with a sated sigh.

“Bloody hell,” Lestrade wheezed.

[ CHAPTER EIGHT ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/9973.html)


	8. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 8

John expected Lestrade to have some difficulty dealing with facing his sexuality over the next few days. What he didn’t expect was another round of ‘blame John’. They had staggered back to John’s room, it being the larger of the two, after bidding a sweaty Sherlock goodnight. There they tumbled into each other’s arms and slept the sleep of the truly sated; until morning when Lestrade woke John up by shoving him out of the bed and onto the floor.

“What the _fuck?!_ ” John demanded.

“Stick your dick in me again and I’ll chop it off,” Lestrade growled, and then stormed out of the room.

Mrs. Hudson gave John a worried look at breakfast, probably having heard him drop onto her ceiling, but was kind enough not to pry. She’d been a dear ever since they’d discussed boundaries and she’d realized how much she’d been poking her nose in their lives. It wasn’t her fault; really, there was just nothing to _do_ around here. Lestrade avoided John for the rest of the day, no small task in such a small living area, and John messaged Sherlock with his woes. Sherlock replied back that he’d expected such a reaction and was equally certain Lestrade would get over it.

John avoided him, angry that he was being blamed for the man’s continuing homophobia. After another couple of days Sherlock was apparently healthy enough to leave his room and joined them in the living room. He went right over to the house and disengaged the latch, swinging it open. John had been sitting on the toilet, which was no longer surrounded by screens now that they had a fourth wall.

“Sherlock! I’m trying to take a shit here!”

“If you have to _try_ then your fiber or water content is off.”

“Close the damn d-wall!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and closed the wall again, “Come out and see me when you’re through. Lestrade! Come on out!”

Sherlock tapped the wall.

“Oi! You know how loud that is?!” Lestrade shouted angrily. John snickered as he heard the side door slam shut.

John, hoping for a bit more than a chat with Sherlock, ran the tub a moment and gave himself a _thorough_ cleaning before heading downstairs and out the side door. He had forgotten about Lestrade, and when they saw each other they both looked away angrily.

“Are you two fighting still?” Sherlock sighed, “How are we to make this work if I’m not the only difficult one?”

John snorted, but Lestrade frowned and folded his arms obstinately.

“What _exactly_ is the problem this time?” Sherlock groused.

“You’re the brilliant detective and mad scientist, you tell me?” Lestrade growled.

“You’re still wallowing in disgust at what we three did together,” Sherlock stated firmly, “But you’ve nothing to be disgusted about. I’m certainly not ashamed. John isn’t ashamed. He’s also done nothing to earn your ill treatment.”

John nodded calmly, “Look I’ve taken your cock more than once, do you think less of me for it?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Lestrade frowned.

“I’m willing to be penetrated at some point,” Sherlock stated, “Would you think less of me for that?”

“I don’t know!”

“What’s wrong with it?” John asked in frustration, “It felt good! You were loving it! Gods, you were bouncing up on top of me like…”

“Like a fucking woman!” Lestrade shouted at him angrily.

“Being gay or being a bottom or being both doesn’t make you a woman. Even if it did, what’s wrong with women? You had no problem bedding them at one point. Did you think so little of them?”

“No.”

“Then how can you think less of me?” John asked miserably.

John was genuinely hurt and Lestrade gave him a guilty look at the pain in his voice: “I don’t, I just… I’m embarrassed. I’m not… even with women I’m not that… unrestrained.”

“Don’t you think that _means_ something?” Sherlock sighed, “You’re one of only a few people I trust and… and care for. You understand me. Few can say that.”

“I’m honored, Sherlock. I’ve always said you’re a great man, but…”

“But nothing!” John snapped angrily, “Why does this have to be about your sexuality or your masculinity? Why can’t it be about _us_? All of us, together and enjoying each other the way lovers should? Greg, I care about you, but I don’t want to be with someone who can’t respect me.”

“I’m not going to choose between you two. It’s both or none,” Sherlock added, “I won’t have liaisons with you separately. That’s too much _work_.”

“Sounds like Lestrade has already made his choice,” John snapped, “Seeing as how you’ve a dick, too, Sherlock.”

“I’m not… I didn’t mean…”

“Perhaps a bit of time to adjust,” Sherlock suggested, “You took years to embrace your crush on me, perhaps Lestrade needs time, too.”

“I’m not going to wait _years_ to have you just because he’s not ready!” John argued, “Why do you have to hold off on being with me just because of him?”

“Because he balances us the way you balance me and the way I balance him. We would not work as a couple, John. You need someone to piss and moan to when I frustrate you, to hold you when I’m distracted. Lestrade needs someone to have fun with and remind him not to work too hard. I need you to be my moral compass and organize my thoughts. I need Lestrade to be my restraint and give me direction when I’m running about without purpose.”

John sighed and nodded at the good sense of that, but was still frustrated and distraught at the idea that he couldn’t be with _either_ of the men he loved because _one_ of them was terrified of being gay! John looked over at Lestrade who was staring quietly at his hands, rubbing them together miserably. Without another word John stood up and headed back inside the house, ruffling Toby’s fur as he went along. Neither Sherlock nor Lestrade tried to stop him.

The next day John felt Lestrade sit down beside him but pointedly didn’t look at him.

“I know I’m being selfish.”

“And bigoted.”

“A bit, yeah.”

“I’m not putting out for you anymore.”

“I rather assumed that,” Lestrade sighed.

“You’ve no idea what you’re missing. I’ve been with Sherlock. You haven’t. Now I’m not going to get a chance again because you’re too busy being a fucking pussy to be a man and take a dick.”

“That… that made no sense.”

“You’re an arsehole.”

“That makes more sense.”

“Especially since I want to pound you.”

Lestrade snorted.

“I love him,” John stated.

“Oh,” Lestrade replied, shifting uncomfortably.

“I was starting to love you, too.”

“Shit, John,” Lestrade growled, standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets as he paced the floor, “What the hell am I supposed to do with that? We had an agreement. Just stress relief. Now you’re in love with me?”

“I was getting there, I didn’t say I was.”

“Oh, so there’s a middle ground, is there?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s stupid.”

“No, your insistence that your sexuality is a problem is stupid. Why do you even need to define yourself? Why do you have to be gay or straight? Or bisexual for that matter? Why can’t you just be _you?_ DI Gregory Lestrade, John and Sherlock’s lover and former ladies man.”

Lestrade snorted, “I think you had a bigger claim to the ladies man title.”

“Yeah, well now you’re not getting any from either gender. How’s that sit with you?”

“Not the best realization I’ve ever had.”

“Where’s Mrs. Hudson?” John asked.

“With Molly and Sherlock, locked in his lab. No idea what they’re up to. Something about diet changes for us.”

John snorted, then undid his trousers and them down to the floor with his pants.

“What happened to me not getting any?” Lestrade grinned, leaning over with a playful tone in his voice.

“Touch me and I’ll break your fingers,” John replied, then shifted to the side and lay down on his half of the couch with his legs spread lewdly.

“You teasing me? You are! You’re being a cocktease!” Lestrade stammered, his voice wavering between angry and aroused.

“Mmmm,” John replied, stroking his cock and sucking on a finger sloppily.

Lestrade sat there on the couch, barely more than a foot away from John’s slowly hardening cock, his eyes riveted on John’s hole as he lowered a wet finger to stroke his pucker. John watched as Lestrade licked his lips and his eyes widened as John slid the tip of his finger inside himself and moaned softly. John was fully hard now and Lestrade was starting to harden as well. He watched as John stroked himself firmly, pushing deeper inside himself and adjusting his feet on the couch. One of them pressed against Lestrade’s hip, but he remained still despite the eager twitch of his cock.

John moaned graphically, stroking his cock faster and twitching his hips as he began to fuck himself on his finger. When he saw Lestrade’s pupils dilate he slid another finger in along side the first and began to press them in faster. When Lestrade’s hips shifted a bit as he sought to relieve pressure on his own aching erection, John curled his fingers to massage his prostate and didn’t have to fake the enthusiastic noises that erupted from his throat. Lestrade reached down and practically tore his trousers open, but the second he got his cock free John slipped his fingers free, snatched up his clothes and walked up the stairs. Lestrade followed after him, of course, his cock bobbing obscenely in front of him as he stalked after John. The second John reached his rooms he paused, watching as Lestrade’s grin widened when he thought John’s hesitance was an invitation.

Then he slammed the door in his face and locked it.

[ CHAPTER NINE ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/9991.html)


	9. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 9

John watched as Lestrade crept carefully into the room, glancing about to make sure Mrs. Hudson was there. He no longer stayed in a room with John alone. Mrs. Hudson was fully aware of why, having walked in more than once when John was ‘teasing’ Lestrade. The man was becoming increasingly more isolated as John refused to socialize with him beyond teasing seduction and Mrs. Hudson tended to spend more time with John or Molly in some oddly polite and quiet way of siding with Sherlock. She smirked at them both and stood up casually.

“I’ll just leave you two boys alone,” She winked.

John smirked and started rubbing his nipples through his shirt as she walked out of the room.

“No! Wait!” Lestrade shouted, and bolted after her, but she headed out and called for Molly instead. John thought Molly might be ‘in’ on things as well as she practically dropped what she was doing to scoop up Mrs. Hudson and told Lestrade they wanted ‘girl’ time when he asked to go along.

“Ooooh, damn it!” Lestrade shouted angrily, kicking at the stalk of a daisy as he passed it and sneezing when pollen scattered down on him.

John was ready for him when Lestrade came back in, his shirt hiked up for his fingers to twist his nipples, groaning at the pleasure-pain that coursed through his body. Lestrade froze and stared hungrily at John, though he had tried to avoid seeing him as he’d re-entered the house. They’d been playing this game for two weeks now and Lestrade was getting more and more frustrated. John watched as he stroked himself through his trousers, and _wanted_ the man back, but he would not give in so long as Lestrade remained so utterly closed minded. John tugged his trousers down and stroked himself firmly, hoping to get off while he still had an attractive man in front of him to look at. Lestrade groaned and once again started undoing his own trousers.

“Don’t run, John. Don’t run. Fuck you look so hot like that! I wanna see you come.”

“Mmm, you better leave your dick in your clothes then, eh?”

“Why are you doing this?” Lestrade groaned, “I can’t help my sexuality any more than you can.”

“Says the man who wants to see another man come,” John grunted, feeling his balls draw up, “You want to taste it?”

“Mph, no,” Lestrade panted as John arched his back up from the chair.

“Pity,” John gasped and spilled himself all across his chest. John grunted through his climax and then rubbed his spunk across his chest, tweaking his nipples again.

Lestrade tore his trousers open and John dragged himself out of his afterglow and bolted for the stairs.

“No! Fucking hell, John, _get back here!_ ” Lestrade shouted, chasing after John as he bolted up the stairs.

Lestrade caught John’s ankle and the half-dressed man toppled onto the stairs, swearing in pain as his knees hit the stairs. Lestrade struggled to pull John’s trousers down and he twisted about to backhand him. John tugged his clothes back up and bolted for his room with real fear pulsing in his veins.

“John! I wasn’t going to…! John!”

John bolted his door and wondered if he should put something in front of it when Lestrade started banging on it and it rattled ominously. It might be a door, but it wasn’t a _real_ door; it was a dollhouse door, made to look pretty not hold up against a hormone-addled copper.

_I pushed him too far. What the hell was I thinking?_

“John, I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to… I wasn’t going to rape you, okay? I just… I want to touch you. Please. Just let me touch you. John. Please. Fuck, I’m _begging_ you here!”

“I’m not going to bottom for someone who doesn’t respect me!” John shouted back, looking around and deciding his desk would be the best object to blockade the door.

“I don’t want to bugger you, I just want to… I just want to hold you. Let me hold you, John. Please. Sherlock said I’m meant to hold you,” Lestrade pleaded, his voice agonized.

John hesitated and then threw the lock. Lestrade burst through the door, nearly hitting him with it and snatched John against himself. Their lips and teeth met, kissing as much as they were biting in a hungry fight for dominance as Lestrade pushed John back towards the bed. They hit it hard and continued to fight each other, rutting against each other as John tried to flip Lestrade over and Lestrade tried to get off before he could.

“Damn it, Greg, I’m not your whore!” John snarled.

Lestrade groaned, rutted twice more and then pulled himself back. He was taking deep breaths through his nose and blowing them out hard, trying to control his pulsing ardor. John slid back on the bed, eyes wide and body tense as he waited for Lestrade to get a grip on himself.

“I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? I’ll man up. I’ll be with you both. I’ll take it if you want me to, but not _every time_.”

“I don’t care if you _never_ take it again. This isn’t about you bottoming, it’s about you respecting me when _I_ bottom.”

Lestrade closed his eyes a moment, struggling, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I don’t know either.”

“I love you.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t _respect_ me. You can’t love someone you don’t respect.”

“Jooohn,” Lestrade moaned, crawling towards him anxiously, “Please. Let me hold you.”

“You can hold me if you can keep your hips _still_.”

“You’re cruel.”

“You broke my heart. Fuck off if you can’t keep it in your pants.”

Lestrade lowered his head to John’s knee, taking more deep breaths, “You won’t even let me jerk off, will you?”

“Nope.”

Lestrade groaned and then nodded. John shifted to one side and Lestrade crawled up to lay down beside him. He hesitated a moment and the pulled John against himself. They lay with Lestrade’s head pillowed on John’s shoulder, his erection heavy and hot between them. They wrapped their arms around each other and pressed close. John pressed a kiss to the top of Lestrade’s head; breathing in his scent and mourning the aching pain in his chest at having him so close but not _close enough_. Eventually John drifted off to sleep. When he woke up Lestrade was gone and a note was on his bedside table.

_John,_

_I didn’t get off. I’m going to earn your forgiveness._

_Lestrade_

Their ritual picked up the next day when Mrs. Hudson went upstairs for a nap. John hesitated while Lestrade watched him cautiously. He recalled Lestrade’s frantic reaction the day before, but he was no longer afraid of him. He knew if Lestrade tackled him again he’d give in; the problem was he didn’t _want_ to give in. John slid his hands up his hips and across his chest, then back down to his thighs. He let his legs fall open and watched Lestrade swallow miserably at the sight. John licked his lips and slid his hand up the growing bulge in his trousers while locking eyes with Lestrade.

Lestrade stood, his hands going to his trousers. The only thing that kept John from bolting once more was the determined look in his eyes. Instead of whipping his cock out, Lestrade turned and knelt on the couch and dropped his trousers from behind. John sucked in his breath at the sight of a bit of black plastic peaking out from between his cheeks. Feeling as though he were in a dream, John crossed the distance between them and touched the plug.

“John,” Lestrade hissed, jerking back, “It’s right on that fucking _spot_. It’s been driving me crazy all day.”

“Prostate,” John replied automatically.

“Fuck me, please,” Lestrade moaned as though in pain.

John tugged his trousers down and gave his cock a squeeze to relieve the pressure, “We need lube.”

“I’m soaked in there.”

“ _I_ need lube. I won’t hurt you.”

“My room,” Lestrade panted.

John helped him rise, abandoning their clothes where they were, and they hurried up the narrow stairs as quickly and quietly as they could. Once in his room, Lestrade through open his stash of lube and John lathered himself up. They were on each other like animals, kissing and caressing hungrily. Lestrade shoved John down on the bed and attacked his nipples until John’s hips jerked feebly below him.

“Greg! Oh, fuck, I need you so bad!”

“John,” Lestrade growled, then scrambled off of him, “Pull it out, yeah?”

“Mmm,” John agreed, and rolled onto his hands and knees to take the plug and tug it gently from Lestrade’s twitching entrance.

Once done, John spread Lestrade’s cheeks and admired his quivering rosebud; the man’s body was clenching spasmodically in an attempt to draw inside _anything_. John gave it a gentle caress, twirling his finger around just inside the gaping hole.

“Oh, fuck!” Lestrade gasped, thrusting back at the too-soft touch.

John moaned and reached between his legs to touch him, but Lestrade batted him away.

“I’ll come,” he gasped, “Please, John, take me already! I’m fucking dying here!”

John needed no more encouragement. He lined himself up and slid slowly inside with a drawn out moan of relief. Lestrade made a chocked sound and whimpered pitifully.

“You okay?”

“Not hurt. Good. S’good. Fuck,” he panted.

“Greg, gods, you’re gorgeous like this,” John breathed, stroking his hands up and down the man’s sides to sooth him.

“M’gonna come,” Lestrade whimpered, “M’ so fucking hard it hurts.”

John slid out and thrust back in, adjusting his angle to hopefully hit Lestrade’s prostate. He missed it, but the man still groaned in pleasure. John tried again and this time Lestrade clenched around him tightly and painted the duvet beneath him with white stripes. John gasped in shock while the man roared out his orgasm completely untouched, and then began to fuck him fast and hard. John gasped, his bollocks drawing up eagerly when he saw Lestrade stroking himself still.

“There! Right there! Oh, fuck it hurts so good! More! John! Fuck!!”

John moaned as he felt Lestrade clench around him again, close but not quite there. He focused on hitting the man’s sweet spot, amazed that he was so close to another orgasm. John was holding himself off as best he could in the hope Lestrade could get there soon but he had no idea if he could manage it for much longer; not with that tight hole sucking him back in every time he pulled out.

“Greg,” John moaned, “I can’t hold back.”

“Do it!” Lestrade gasped, “Come in my arse!”

John groaned in relief, emptying himself inside of Lestrade with three deep thrusts and then holding still as the man’s body seemed to swallow around him. Lestrade was still working his cock fast so John slid free and flipped over. He pushed Lestrade’s legs apart until he could squeeze his head beneath them, getting the man’s spunk in his hair as he did. Once he realized what John wanted to do, Lestrade backed up and straddled his chest. John gulped down the throbbing, leaking prick down and Lestrade came with a strangled scream. John swallowed the tiny spurt that emerged and kept sucking until Lestrade whimpered and pulled away.

They both lay limp on the bed, panting through their afterglow.

“You going to freak at me tomorrow?” John asked, worry in his voice.

“No. I’m gonna wake you up by sucking your cock.”

“S’nice,” John yawned, “My room? Your room is cramped as hell.”

Lestrade snorted, “That’s what comes of loosing the coin toss.”

They staggered to John’s room, both bemoaning their semen-covered states but too tired to do anything about it, and climbed under the covers after wiping down with a towel from the hamper. It wasn’t until just as he was drifting off to sleep that John thought of something.

“Greg? Where did you get a miniature butt-plug?”

“Mm? Sherlock.”

“That wanker!”

[ CHAPTER TEN ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/10271.html)


	10. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 10

“Oh, gods, I deserve this!” John cried out as his body clenched around the toy in his arse.

“Fuck yeah, you do, take it John! Take it and hold back. Don’t you dare come. Not till I say.”

“Oh, fuck! Ohfuckohfuckohfuck! Ahhhhh!”

John was writhing on the bed, his back arched as he fucked himself with a little wooden dildo made to be the approximate size and shape of Sherlock’s cock had he been shrunk down with them. Around his cock was tied a thin rubber band- though it seemed bigger to them in their reduced size- which was holding back his orgasm as he pleasured himself for Lestrade’s viewing pleasure. John torturing Lestrade with his body after their last fight had led to this moment as Lestrade had described in detail the unbridled pleasure he’d experienced when held off for a time. Now it was John’s turn and he _hated_ it… until Lestrade pulled the band off his cock and he came in ribbons across his body while screaming in mind-numbing pleasure. Mrs. Hudson banged on their floor but they ignored her as Lestrade tugged the toy from John’s body and fucked him fast and hard. Neither of them had touched each other or themselves in four days so it was only a few thrusts before Lestrade gasped and filled John’s twitching hole.

They sagged onto the bed together, lips brushing tenderly as Lestrade stroked John’s face and whispered lovingly to him.

“Gods, you were beautiful, your face so flushed.”

“Greg, mmmm.”

“I want to eat you alive, John Watson, I want to devour you,” Lestrade whispered as he kissed down the sweaty man’s neck, lapping at the salt that covered his skin.

“Yes. Yes. Anything. Gods, I love you,” John breathed.

Greg looked up in surprise and John stilled in concern.

“Love you. Yeah,” Greg nodded firmly, the serious look in his eyes belied by the cocky grin.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to tell him that?” John asked, nearly choking on the words as his finger caressed the base of the toy he’d been pleasuring himself with.

“I hope so,” Greg sighed, lying down beside his lover and wrapping his arms around him as John dabbed at his chest with the corner of a tissue.

It had been three months since Sherlock had left them once again in the middle of the night. At least this time he’d left a note.

_John and Greg,_

_I expect to be gone for a considerable amount of time for this round. I regret that we had little interaction this time due to my illness and your fighting. Know that I will be thinking of you, and if I do not return I wish you happiness together. Stay with each other._

_Sherlock_

Greg had nearly wept when he’d read that and had beaten himself up considerably for wasting what might have been their last days together with Sherlock. John had buried his bitterness and held the man close, realizing he might be all he had left. Sherlock wouldn’t leave a note like that if he weren’t seriously concerned that he wouldn’t be able to return to them, as seemed to be the case.

It had been six months since they’d last seen Sherlock. Four months since Molly had any contact, the last being their monthly allowance being sent to them. That had stopped and Molly had been forced to get a job to pay for their meager needs. She hadn’t told them, but they suspected she was working on a way to restore them to full size. The implication was clear: even Molly didn’t think he was coming back.

Greg had gotten to act out his medical kink in part. An illness had gone through the house a week after Molly had started working and John had cared for Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson while they’d been sick and miserable. Lestrade had never thought it possible to be happy while being helpless in someone’s arms, but he had been and it had been fulfilling in an entirely new way. John had bathed him, dressed him, cleaned up his mess when he’d fouled himself, and even gently stroked him to completion when he’d been both feverish and achingly hard. The entire time John hadn’t lost that medical professional attitude.

“I loved that, you know?” Lestrade had told him later, “You were sitting on my bedside, totally clothed, stroking me off while calmly informing me that everything was going to be alright and you were going to take care of me. The look on your face… it wasn’t sexual. It was _professional_. You’d have thought you were drawing blood instead of wanking me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so… vulnerable, exposed, cared for, and aroused at the same time in my entire life. When we’re back to normal, I want to do that after you’ve taken a blood sample. And I want a physical.”

A few days after their orgasm-denial play, John had finished the final touches on his doctor game and sought Lestrade out.

“The physical we can do now,” John had smirked.

John had asked Mrs. Hudson to make him a doctor’s coat. She’d given him a knowing smirk, but made it all the same. Then he’d set up Lestrade’s room to look more like an office and had him strip down to his pants. They’d checked his blood pressure, temperature, and reflexes, discussed his medical history, and otherwise laid him completely bare. Lestrade was trembling by the time John got to the physical examination part. He’d touched him everywhere; massaging his glands, rolling his testicles in his hands, examining his teeth, manipulating his arms and legs, staring deeply into his eyes, peering into his ears, and finally slipping his finger into his body to examine his prostate.

“You’re going to feel a slight pressure, don’t be alarmed if you become aroused. It’s entirely normal. Given enough stimulation, a man will ejaculate from prostate stimulation alone. If you do, no one has to know except us,” John told him calmly.

John had watched Lestrade come undone before him. The man had started out smirking at the ‘kink’, but was soon trembling beneath his touch. It was more than arousal. It was a kind of submission that spoke volumes of how much Lestrade needed to be cared for. He needed a physical expression of John’s love. He needed to be _shown_ that he was valuable to him. So John took care of him. He gently, but firmly, examined every inch of his lover with the aloof attitude of a medical expert before taking his leaking member in hand. Lestrade was bent over the blanket-covered desk they were using as an ‘exam table’, quivering in anticipation as John slowly started off.

“Oh, gods,” Lestrade whispered, trembling as John stroked his prostate with one hand while gently caressing his hip with the other.

“That’s it, Mr. Lestrade. Just a bit more and we can get you dressed and out the door again. Back to normal life, eh? You have someone special?”

“Y-yes. Two of them, actually. Bloody fantastic the b-both of em.”

“Lucky man,” John replied with a smile.

“I’m going to ask the one to marry me when I get back home,” Lestrade whispered suddenly, his voice tense with concern.

Something in John fluttered, but he was in ‘doctor mode’ so he ignored it in favor of increasing the stimulation until Lestrade was humping the air and panting a bit.

“I’m sure he’ll say yes,” John replied warmly, “Any man would be a fool to turn down a strong man like you.”

“Y-yeah?”

“Mm-hm,” John replied, “A bit more pressure, now. How are you doing?”

“I’d really like a wank, doctor,” Lestrade pleaded.

“Now, now, we don’t need to use such vulgar terms. How would you ask your doctor to help you ejaculate?”

“Mph! Doctor, I need you t-to manually stimulate me until I reach orgasm. Would you mind?” Lestrade asked, his voice cracking a bit.

“I think I can fit that into today’s exam. How’s this feel, Mr. Lestrade?” John asked. He gave him a firm squeeze and then focused on stroking him from base to tip with a firm stroke.

“Oh, fuck! I mean… Yes, doctor, thank you, doctor. Uhhnn!”

John leaned forward, letting himself break character just a bit as he saw Lestrade approaching orgasm, “I would give anything for a pair of rubber gloves right now. I love the feel of you, but could you imagine if there was a layer of rubber over my hands right now? The lube gliding around them, making them slippery and separating my skin from you? It would be like a stranger were doing this to you. Making you fall apart.”

“John!” Lestrade gasped, then arched his back and came spectacularly across the blanket, “D-doctor! Fuck!”

John smirked as Lestrade went limp across the desk. He carefully wiped his hands off and stepped behind Lestrade, undoing his trousers as he went.

“Very good, Mr. Lestrade, but there’s just one more thing we need to do today.”

“Huh?” Lestrade asked.

“My fee, Mr. Lestrade. The nurse outside informed me you aren’t insured and don’t have a way to pay,” John slipped his fingers back inside of Lestrade once more, scissored them a moment, and then slipped in a third, “Thankfully our office is amenable to other forms of payment.”

“Oh fuck,” Lestrade gasped, pushing back on John’s fingers and then mewling miserably when he pulled them free once more.

John slicked up his cock and pressed slowly inside of Lestrade, “That’s it, Mr. Lestrade. Just a few more inches. A bit of pressure here. Let me know if your prostate is overstimulated at any point.”

“I think I can co-er-ejaculate again, doctor.”

“Excellent,” John panted, struggling to keep his voice professional, “If you feel the need to, don’t let me stop you.”

Meaning: take care of it yourself, it’s my turn.

John began to thrust slowly, enjoying the tight clench around him. This was only his fifth time inside of Lestrade since the man preferred to top almost exclusively. John had every intention of savoring the feel of a tight body wrapped around his aching cock. Beneath him, Lestrade was wanking his lube-covered cock with a clear intent to bring himself off as quickly as possible. John angled himself to hit his prostate and quickened his pace.

“Oh, gods! How do you do this to me? I’m like a fucking teenager again!”

“Language, Mr. Lestrade,” John scolded lightly, “Not much longer and you’ll be free to go.”

Lestrade moaned throatily and John held himself back in the hopes he could get the man off once more. It took ages and John was afraid he’d be unable to come at all if he held off much longer, but then Lestrade suddenly fluttered and then clenched around him. John gasped and held still as Lestrade let out a strangled cry and came in weak spurts. Once he stopped gripping him, John pounded into the limp body beneath him almost violently and came with a satisfied grunt. He took several moments to catch his breath and get himself refocused before pulling out.

“Very good, Mr. Lestrade,” John stated, wiping off his cock and hands and doing his clothes back up, “You seem in excellent health. I’m going to have Nancy set you up an appointment for three months from now for another check-up. I trust you’ll be prepared to pay by then?”

“Fuck yeah. Anything you want.”

John smirked and opened the bedroom door wide after peeking into the hall to make sure Mrs. Hudson wasn’t there, “Then I’ll leave you to dress and see yourself out. Good day.”

John went into his own room and threw himself down on the bed. He was joined a few minutes later by a dressed and shaky Lestrade who curled into his side like a frightened kitten.

“Was that too much for you? Not what you wanted?” John worried.

“It was brilliant. I really could have used the gloves and I think I like the idea of my blood getting drawn, but other than that it was everything I’d hoped and more. Gods, I felt so… _raw_.”

“That’s good,” John replied, “You seemed to need it.”

“It did something I wasn’t used to, John. I felt… fuck, I can’t talk about this.”

“It’s fine. You don’t have to explain. I saw it in your face,” John replied, kissing his sweaty temple, “Let’s go shower and get something to eat, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They headed downstairs hoping for news about Sherlock, but when they got there Mrs. Hudson was nowhere to be seen and Molly’s door was tightly closed. They could hear her sobbing.

[ CHAPTER ELEVEN ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/10501.html)


	11. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse 11

John was trying not to cry, but the rate of him snuffling and rubbing at his eyes likely meant he was failing miserably. Mycroft was pale and drawn as he explained the situation to them. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were weeping openly. Lestrade had jumped straight into the denial stage.

“But you haven’t seen a body. There isn’t a _body_ ,” Lestrade argued angrily.

“I realize that, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft sighed for the third time, “But my brother’s instructions were quite clear. If he did not contact me by yesterday’s date he was to be presumed dead.”

“ _Presumed_ doesn’t mean _is,_ ” Lestrade shouted at him angrily.

“Greg,” John called softly, grasping his hand and tugging him down onto the couch with him.

Lestrade seemed to recall John and Sherlock’s description of their relationship at that point and wrapped him tightly in his arms. John leaned into Lestrade for support, breathing in his scent and trying not to think of the one he missed.

“I see,” Mycroft stated coldly, his eyes narrowed at them, “Dr. Watson, I’m disappointed in you. While I wouldn’t be surprised if you never embraced your homosexuality, to do so with _another man_ -“

“It isn’t like that,” John replied, his voice choked, “I love Sherlock. We both do.”

“He loves us, too,” Lestrade replied firmly.

“The _both_ of you?” Mycroft replied in surprise.

John and Lestrade nodded, leaving Mycroft temporarily speechless, “Well, that does change things a bit. I suppose it is one good thing; you’ll both have each other to mourn with.”

“You’ve got us, too,” John replied, giving the lonely aristocrat a comforting look.

“I think not. I would rather not have my brother’s cast-offs,” Mycroft replied scathingly.

“Hey, that’s not what he meant!” Lestrade snapped, “As if either of us would just fall into bed with someone.”

“Yes, you’re doing such a good job of making me believe that based on the state of your bedroom _Doctor_ Watson,” Mycroft sneered.

“Fuck you!” John snapped, “What we do on our own in this dull and _empty_ house is none of your damn business! We’re trying to stay sane here!”

“Well, luckily for you I have Sherlock’s notes. We can begin attempting to restore you to proper size immediately.”

“Thank gods,” Lestrade breathed.

“What do you mean ‘attempting’,” John worried.

“Sherlock wasn’t certain it was even possible,” Mycroft admitted.

John and Lestrade stared at each other in horror a moment, then John buried his head in Lestrade’s shoulder and willed himself not to start either swearing or crying. Lestrade stroked his hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Mycroft got out a cloth measuring tape and a produce scale and asked them all to step up to be measured. He took their proportions into account and jotted them all down, comparing them to what they weighed when Sherlock had first brought them to the dollhouse.

“Well, the good news is that none of you have continued to shrink: quite the opposite in fact.”

“Oh, so we’re getting better on our own?” Lestrade replied with some small cheer.

“I was referring to you gaining weight, actually,” Mycroft muttered as he wrote out some complicated formulas on the pad of paper in front of him, “Hopefully that won’t harm anything, but you three should go on diets just in case.”

“All there is to do around here is eat, fiddle with the laptop, and have sex,” John growled angrily.

“Speak for yourselves,” Mrs. Hudson huffed, “And it wouldn’t hurt you to do a few chores around here. I’m not your housekeeper, you know.”

“There you have it, start cleaning house… well… _doll_ house,” Mycroft sneered.

“Is there any reason he has to be a colossal prick?” Lestrade snarled as the man stepped into Sherlock’s lab.

“Leave him be,” John sighed, “He’s just lost his brother, and it was basically his fault.”

“How so?”

“He’s the one who gave Moriarty the information on Sherlock that let him set up his fall from grace.”

“Why the hell would he do that?!”

“Duty,” John replied, knowing that burden well, “He needed to get Moriarty to talk so he traded him information about Sherlock. Private stuff that only someone who knew him well would know. Some of it not even I knew.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Three days had gone by and Mycroft had finished looking over Sherlock’s notes and packing up his lab. Everything was shipped back to Baker Street and then he calmly placed the three of them in a cardboard cat carrier lined with felt. They were traveling shoe-less for safety sake, and Mrs. Hudson had worn a pair of John’s pants with a bit of thread to tie it in place.

“I’ll be as gentle as possible,” He assured them as they were lowered into their box.

Molly had packed up as well, but she was going through tissues by the pack as she seemed to have kept crying day and night since Mycroft had broken the news to them. Lestrade was still stubbornly holding out hope, but John had searched his blog, Sherlock’s website, and even St. Bart’s website for a hidden message from Sherlock. He’d found nothing. He was heading straight for depressed at an alarming rate and spent the entire trip back to Baker Street with his head in Lestrade’s lap.

“It will be good to get back to work. Can’t imagine how I’ll explain my absence. Guess the truth won’t work.”

“You could say Moriarty kidnapped you?” John suggested, “Maybe they would believe you and clear Sherlock’s name.”

“Nah, I’ve gained weight and two boyfriends. No one’s going to believe I was held hostage by a madman.”

“True,” John replied sadly.

“He’s not dead, John,” Lestrade told him gently, carding his fingers through his hair, “We’d know if he was. No way Moriarty’s people would let that go silently.”

“Could we please just not? I know you’re trying to help, but I feel like your twisting a fucking fork in my heart,” John replied, his voice cracking miserably.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

221B Baker Street looked strange from six inches off the ground. John walked across the floor and it took ages to reach his chair and even longer to climb up the leg of it to sit in his own spot. Mycroft and Molly both asked to help him but he turned them down. Once he’d made it he sat down, legs straight out in front of him with his back to pressed to the cushion, and stared across at Sherlock’s empty chair.

“It’s cold in here,” John told the room in general.

“I’ll get a fire going,” Molly suggested, having overheard him.

Eventually Lestrade joined him and they waited for Mycroft to finish examining the device in Sherlock’s room that had shrunk them all down.

“It’s a miracle you lot are alive!” Mycroft announced, leaving the bedroom in a tiff, “That thing looks more like mechanized porta-john than a piece of scientific equipment!”

“Yes, well, he had to reverse it all rather suddenly,” John explained, “It wasn’t meant to shrink things, originally.”

“Yes, I noticed that in his notes. Even so he killed several mutts before managing Toby and then you three.”

Toby had made the trip in a little pillbox with holes in it since he’d managed to sick and piss on them last time. He still wasn’t feeling well and whined miserably from his place collapsed on the floor.

“He mentioned them spontaneously combusting,” John murmured, recalling the foul stink in the flat the day he’d come home. Sherlock had promptly drugged him and he’d awoken in the box being shipped to Switzerland.

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Lestrade scoffed.

Mycroft worked on the machine all day and then set Toby into it. The results were catastrophic and Mrs. Hudson cried on John’s shoulder as Mycroft dropped the still-thumb-sized Toby into the trash.

“I’m going to miss that little shit-ball,” Lestrade sighed as he and John got ready for bed. Mycroft had taken them up to John’s room for the night. Mrs. Hudson and Molly were down in 221A.

“Yeah, me too. Good thing you didn’t go for him instead of me, you’d really be heart broken,” John joked with a sad smile.

“Come here, Johnny, you wanker,” Lestrade chuckled.

They squirmed beneath the heavy covers, pressing close in each other’s arms as they enjoyed the complete privacy for the first time in years. Sadly they were both too sad and tired to do anything except enjoy the warmth of each other’s arms. Just as John was drifting off they heard a thump on the landing and then their door opened.

“Molly?” Lestrade asked in surprise.

“Greg?” An unmistakable deep voice croaked out at them raggedly.

“Sherlock?!” John called out, scrambling out of the covers.

“John, you’re here,” Sherlock said softly, and then collapsed to the ground.  


[ CHAPTER TWELVE ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/10755.html)

 


	12. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse Ch 12

John and Lestrade scrambled down the blankets like tiny Tarzans, ran across the floor, and Lestrade helped John check Sherlock over.

“He’s in shock, I think. It’s so bloody hard to do _anything_ at this size,” John stated, “He’s dehydrated, his pulse is elevated, his temperature is low, and it looks like he’s got a bandaged wound around his ribs.”

“Okay, what do we do?” Lestrade asked.

“Get help. We’re useless at this size.”

“Yeah, including the ‘get help’ part,” Lestrade groaned, “Nearest ‘help’ is down the stairs and through two doors!”

“We’ll have to hoof it,” John replied, “I hate to leave him like this, but we’ll get there faster if we help each other and there’s literally _nothing_ we can do here.”

John and Lestrade bolted for the stairs, jumping down each one and shouting along the way in the hopes of getting help sooner. By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs they were out of breath, drenched in sweat, and aching from jumping down seventeen stairs that were almost twice their height. When they reached the door to the kitchen they started looking for a way to get attention. John beat on the door and shouted while Lestrade tried to drag some books over from the shelf in the hopes of climbing on top to reach the doorknob.

“It’s no use,” John panted, “We’re too small. Our voices don’t carry here as well as in the cabin.”

“Grab a book,” Lestrade ordered and John hurried to obey.

They were just trying to figure out how to make the book staircase go higher without falling over when they heard a door open inside 221B. They both glanced at each other and then started screaming for help on the top of their lungs, banging on the door. When it began to open they had to run for their lives, books scattering everywhere.

“John? Greg? What’s goin on?” Molly yawned, her dressing gown clutched tightly around her waist.

“Sherlock’s upstairs!”

“Sherlock’s hurt!”

They’d yelled both at the same time, but Molly heard the word Sherlock and went pale before bolting up the stairs, nearly stepping on Lestrade in the process. She gave a startled, pained, cry and then they heard her talking on the phone, clearly calling for help. John and Lestrade looked at the stairs in misery. They were practically weak from fear, overexertion, and the long hours since Sherlock had been declared to them as being dead. With a sigh John walked over to the first step and cradled his hands. Lestrade walked up to him without a word, placed his foot in John’s hands, and levered himself up the step. That was where they had a problem, because John couldn’t jump high enough to reach Lestrade’s hand once he held it down for him. Luckily, Molly came clattering down the stairs at that point.

“Oh! John! Mycroft is on the way and so is an ambulance. They told me to cover him up,” Molly scooped Lestrade and John up rather roughly, “I used your blankets. You have to stay out of sight, but I thought you’d want to go to the hospital with him.”

Molly slipped one into each of her pockets, John nearly twisted his shoulder at her abrupt treatment, and then hurried up the steps again. They were being rattled around like- well- dolls, but it was no use if they wanted to be a part of this. When Molly knelt down and the movement stopped John climbed up her pocket and peered out to see Sherlock laying limp on his back with his legs elevated and a blanket tucked around him. His shoes were on the ground nearby.

_Sherlock. What happened_?

XXXXXXXXX

The ambulance ride was an exercise in agony for the two tiny men, but they tolerated it in the hopes of being there when Sherlock awoke. He spent hours in surgery and John and Lestrade were carefully transferred to the pockets of Mycroft’s jacket while Molly went home to get some sleep and check on Mrs. Hudson.

Once Sherlock was out of surgery Mycroft went to sit by his bedside, ordering the nurses to knock before entering. He slipped a finger into each pocket and Lestrade and John were drawn out like firemen on poles. They were carefully lowered to the blanket and climbed to Sherlock’s pale, drawn face.

“What happened to him?” John asked.

“A knife wound to the chest, thankfully only damaging one lung. He seems to have received very poor first aid before staggering into your bedroom, Dr. Watson.”

“Who would leave him like that?”

“I’ve no idea, but it’s a miracle he’s alive,” Mycroft replied, “I found evidence amongst his possessions of him recently being in Aix-Les-Bains, France, but why or with whom is a mystery.”

John pressed into Sherlock’s cheek, kissing it and stroking above the stubble line. His eyelashes fluttered but he did not regain consciousness. They were allowed an hour with him, holding each other and softly talking to Sherlock in the hopes of giving him some comfort before Mycroft drew them away back to his pockets and back to Baker Street.

It was another day before Sherlock woke up, the doctors stating that his body had been taxed to its limit and sleep being the best thing for him. When John, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade arrived in Molly’s pockets it was to find him sitting up with the aid of the bed pillows and looking drained. When he saw them, however, he reached for them with a joyous smile and Molly gently lowered each onto his cupped hands.

“My loves,” Sherlock whispered, his throat scratchy, and brought the three of them to his face to press a gentle kiss to each head.

There was much exclaiming and holding tightly to his fingers as the only way to hug him. Sherlock had Molly lower the bed and they lay on his abdomen while he simply admired them. His eyes were a bit glassy, so it was no wonder that he drifted off while they babbled at him about anything that came to their minds in the usual keeping of someone by another’s hospital bed. Eventually Molly had to take them home again, but they left with hope in their hearts.

[ CHAPTER THIRTEEN ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/11134.html)


	13. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse 13

Sherlock came home the next day with a list of restrictions that he was only happy to obey. He stretched out in his bed and let everyone fuss over him with a cheery smile. John and Lestrade barely left his side, even putting on a show for him by making love on his stomach.

Sherlock groaned a bit, his arousal stirring as the two men writhed on his belly. John was spread out like a meal, his arms thrown above his head in sensual abandon as he drowned himself in Sherlock’s scent and the feel of Lestrade’s thick cock inside of him. Lestrade possessively sucked marks into John’s neck and shoulders, growling about how he was going to enjoy every inch of John before he had to properly share him. They finished together with soft cries and tender kisses. Sherlock declined their offers to pleasure him, pleading exhaustion.

Thankfully, the next day he was much more energetic and confessed that he’d tried something new while he’d been away from them.

“Sounding?” John asked with a smirk, “I’ve never done it outside of medical school, but I’ve known a few blokes who liked it. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking that I’d like you to fuck my cock, then yes,” Sherlock replied with a nod.

“Oh, just fuck it?” John laughed, “I was thinking of _fisting_ it.”

“Fisting my…” Sherlock’s eyes glazed a moment as he imagined that, “That would be… the only downside is that my prostate can’t be reached.”

“True,” John nodded, and then grinned, “Well, not from that end.”

Sherlock grinned and fetched a bottle of lube from the side table, removing the cap and pouring a bit of it inside.

“This might not work,” Lestrade stated worriedly, “We’re pretty tiny.”

“Can’t hurt to try,” John grinned.

“I’m picturing myself getting sucked into his arsehole like some horror movie right now,” Lestrade snickered. John and Sherlock laughed.

“There’s another option,” Sherlock stated, and pulled out a [black, curved vibrator](http://www.amazon.com/G-spot-prostate-Massager-Porducts-Vibrator/dp/B00CR6GFAY/ref=sr_1_18?ie=UTF8&qid=1377528959&sr=8-18&keywords=anal+vibrator) from his bedside table, “Lestrade, do you think you could manage this?”

“I’ll die trying,” Lestrade replied enthusiastically.

Sherlock laid spread out for them, stroking himself to hardness and slipping the lubricated toy into place. He turned it on and grunted as the device started to stimulate him. Lestrade- standing on a book for leverage and height- grasped it with both arms and started to thrust it shallowly inside Sherlock’s passage, using his hips to give him enough force.

“Ohhhh,” Sherlock sighed, arching a bit.

“Easy, Sher, you’ll knock me over,” John scolded.

John was standing on a pad of paper that Sherlock and draped over his stomach to avoid John’s feet poking him uncomfortably. The eager pocket-sized doctor had spread lubricant all the way up to his shoulder. Sherlock held his cock in place for John, keeping it at shoulder height while John started the play off by stroking around the head of the man’s cock and slipping his slick hand beneath his foreskin.

John moaned appreciatively, circling the slit with his fingers lovingly.

“It’s so… odd,” Sherlock grunted, then gasped as Lestrade continued to pleasure him from below.

“Fuck, we didn’t take p-part of this into c-consideration,” Lestrade gasped.

“The part where the vibrator gets you off as well?” Sherlock panted, “Of course it would.”

“Fuuuuck,” Lestrade moaned, his voice trembling with the vibrations as he humped the toy pressed inside of Sherlock.

“ _Damn_ that’s hot!” John grinned as he peered over to see Lestrade coming undone between Sherlock’s thighs. _And just a bit silly, too_.

The silver haired man had his head thrown back and his shoulder pressed to the top half of the handle of the toy. He was pressing it inside with each even thrust of his hips. John could see his entire body shaking from the vibration, Lestrade’s mouth wide as he gasped for breath.

John slowly pressed first his closed fist inside Sherlock’s slit, then his wrist, then up to his elbow, and finally all the way in to his shoulder. Sherlock was gasping and clawing at the bed, desperately trying to hold still so he didn’t knock either of his diminutive lovers over.

“Oh! Oh! John! Greg! Fuck! I-I-I… Oh!” Sherlock gasped, tugging at his curls in frustration, “I’m so _full!_ ”

“Yes, that’s it Sher, take us!” John growled, pumping his arm in and out of Sherlock’s cock.

“Oh, gods! I need to come!” Sherlock cried out.

John could feel the detective’s hot seed pushing up his urethra, his bollocks were tight against his body and Lestrade was stroking them with one hand while moaning luridly as he continued to torment Sherlock’s prostate with the toy.

“There’s so much pressure,” Sherlock gasped, “John you feel so different from the sound, it’s… there’s… _friction_. I-I oh!”

Lestrade cried out, then bit his lip. He was close to a climax and Sherlock’s body was starting to suck at the toy over and again, pulling it inside of him so that it was more of a struggle to pull it out then push it in. Finally he just settled for pressing it tight against him and humping it frantically. The vibrations along the velvety-textured toy were unbelievable. He was glad he’d smeared lube on his cock or it would probably be unpleasant. As it was, he felt like he was rutting against a vibrating leg.

Sherlock was groaning in near distress as his impending orgasm tightened his abdomen. John slid his arm free and pushed Sherlock’s cock down so he could thrust his cock inside of Sherlock’s. The sight of it did Sherlock in and he gasped as he came across John’s body, knocking him back a step. John moaned as the hot fluids splattered over his torso and happily collapsed backwards into Sherlock’s hand when the man reached down for him. He was raised to Sherlock’s mouth where the man moaned as he licked his spunk off John’s body. John gasped and moaned as Sherlock’s tongue pleasured him, stroking up and down his cock as the man licked him clean. Lestrade was carefully scooped up from between Sherlock’s legs.

“I can’t believe I didn’t come,” Lestrade groaned.

“Overstimulation,” Sherlock muttered before continuing to pleasure John.

John’s arousal was building faster as he lay limp in Sherlock’s arms, his legs tensing as his climax coiled in his belly. Sherlock lathed his tongue over him, caressing erogenous zones that John didn’t know that he had. Apparently the inside of his thighs lived for Sherlock’s gigantic tongue. He was nearly reduced to tears at the intimacy involved in feeling every gigantic taste bud on Sherlock’s tongue, the hot breath- smelling of sweetened tea- curling around his torso. Sherlock’s soft moans as he enjoyed the feel of John’s body in his hand and against his lips and that talented muscle. He was gasping and his legs were twitching embarrassingly when he finally came with a sigh of pleasure and relief. Sherlock pressed a kiss to his tacky chest and whispered his name, running a gigantic finger across his hair in a lover’s caress.

John didn’t question being placed into a facedown position on Sherlock’s chest. He knew what was coming next and the feel of warmed lube being pressed into his body by Lestrade’s talented fingers was a welcome intrusion. He lay slack with his legs spread wide and his arms splayed as though hugging Sherlock’s gigantic torso. Lestrade, panting anxiously since he hadn’t managed to come before, was stroking himself back into hardness. At the last minute Sherlock apparently had an idea to enjoy Lestrade a bit more and scooped him up to lick him to firmness. John raised his head weakly and watched as Lestrade bucked and swore in the palm of Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock’s eyes were closed, a look of bliss on his face as if he were enjoying the most delicate tasting and exquisite desert. John whimpered and reached back to hold his cheeks open as Lestrade was lowered once more and scrambled forward, panting hungrily.

“I’m gonna take you _so hard_ you gorgeous man,” Lestrade growled, and plunged into John’s gaping entrance.

John yelped at the sudden intrusion, but was soon moaning happily. He loved the full feeling and the smell of his two lovers around and on him only made this moment all the more beautiful. He was sobbing, tears running down his cheeks as he begged for more, harder, faster, _Greg! Sherlock! Please!_ He wasn’t even hard, far past satisfied all to recently, but he was _aroused_ in a way that had nothing to do with sexual pleasure. He longed to feel them both and was suddenly sorry he wasn’t proper size so he could suckle on Sherlock’s cock- limp or hard- while Lestrade took him.

Lestrade brushed John’s hands away and gripped both his plump cheeks firmly, holding him open and staring down at him.

“My dick looks so damn good sliding in and out of you, John. Are you watching this, Sherlock? Look at him take my cock. Look at him _beg_ for it, he’s not even turned on he just wants to be _taken_.”

John was gasping affirmatives to Lestrade’s words, Sherlock was panting above him in apparent enjoyment despite his satisfied state; he could feel Lestrade’s cockhead swelling in impending orgasm.

“You two look _perfect_ together,” Sherlock breathed, “I could watch this endlessly.”

“Gonna come,” Lestrade gasped.

“Yes! Fucking _fill me_!” John demanded, and groaned happily as Lestrade stilled, pumping hot ribbons of come into his greedy hole.

Sherlock moaned and then relaxed back onto his bed with a contented sigh. John felt Lestrade slip free and press a kiss to each arsecheek. He was then gently maneuvered into a more comfortable position and Lestrade snuggled against him with tender caresses. Sherlock laid his long fingers over their bodies like a heated blanket and John curled his arm around one of them. He was eager to be his proper size again, but there was something utterly charming about being so small. He felt a bit guilty about how much he loved Sherlock’s protectiveness, but of course he wasn’t the only one basking in Sherlock’s greedy attention and he certainly hoped that Lestrade was getting fairly adored by them both. A snore from behind him let him know that the man was at least content. John chuckled and Sherlock smothered a laugh to avoid blasting their eardrums with his deep voice.

Then the door opened and Molly walked in to see them all laying in a state of sexual indulgence.

“Oh my goodness! I’m sorry. Oh, I am _so sorry!_ ”

Molly slammed the door shut and Lestrade and John sat up in time to avoid being deafened by Sherlock’s laughter, though Lestrade did topple off of him laughing the entire way. John slid off of Sherlock’s bouncing chest as the man and pulled a snickering Lestrade upright. They leaned on each other as they laughed and then kissed tenderly as the humor subsided.

“Love you both,” Lestrade admitted softly.

“Yeah, you two mate,” John grinned giving Lestrade’s buttocks a squeeze.

“My two men,” Sherlock sighed happily, scooping them up and placing them in their tissue-box bed on his bedside, “As much as I adore you being close, I’d rather you were safe. Tomorrow I may feel well enough to get up and re-calibrate the machine to return you to proper size. If not, then I hope you will be content to remain my two _tiny_ men for a bit longer.”

“Just don’t take forever,” Lestrade groused as he pulled the blanket over a yawning John and snuggled close to him, “Go to sleep slut.”

John snorted, “Yes, dear.”

“Isn’t that on offensive term?” Sherlock wondered.

“Only when it _isn’t_ true,” Lestrade quipped.

“Oi!” John snapped, and pinched his arm.

Lestrade soothed him with a kiss and John sighed as he slipped into slumber with his lovers nearby.

[ CHAPTER FOURTEEN ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/11267.html)


	14. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse 14

Sherlock had gone out and collected a bunch of stray cats. John didn’t even want to know how he’d managed to lure a dozen stray cats into crates in a mere hour. He just wanted them to stop screaming, yowling, hissing, and mewling. The more they did that the worse he felt that they were ‘test subjects’. Sherlock had already managed to enlarge a deceased finger without it exploding, but he had stated quite firmly- as he placed it in the freezer- that it wasn’t enough to enlarge dead flesh. He had to enlarge living flesh, preferably after it had been shrunk for several years.

“Since that isn’t an option now that Toby is deceased we’ll just have to make due,” Sherlock replied, selecting the first cat at random.

He took one of the whimpering ones and Mrs. Hudson started crying. While John comforted her there were several flashes and a loud grinding noise coming from Sherlock’s room. He returned with a cat the size of a Great Dane… sadly it was also dead.

“Well, that was unfortunate. I’ll have to re-calibrate the machine. I do wish Mycroft hadn’t tinkered with it, but there’s nothing to be done for it now.”

Another cat was carried off to its probable doom, this time one of the yowling ones. Mrs. Hudson cried louder, which just proved a few points to John about why she let Sherlock live with her when he was such a stroppy, destructive, bastard.

_Who you’re in love with,_ John reminded himself, glancing over at Lestrade, _Along with a charming and humorous detective inspector._

Lestrade caught John’s worried glance and walked over to sling an arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Johnny, he’ll figure it out. He’s Sherlock Holmes! Nothing stops that man from getting what he wants.”

John smiled, “Not even if what he wants is to shrink down all his friends, imprison them, and eventually seduce two of them.”

Mrs. Hudson chuckled through her tears and gave John’s shoulder a swat, “Honestly, in my time of life.”

“Sorry, Mrs. H,” John replied, kissing her forehead affectionately.

“I suppose I’ll have _another_ tenant when this is all said and done,” She replied, smiling at Lestrade.

“Yeah, I guess you will,” Lestrade replied, glancing up as Sherlock fled the room.

“John!” Sherlock shouted, “Where’s your pistol!”

“I’m six inches tall, remember?!” John shouted back as Sherlock tried to shut the door on claw the size of a dinner plate.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock replied, got the door shut, and rifled around until he located the revolver, “It worked,” He stated uselessly, then went to put the wild experiment down before it got loose and killed someone.

“The poor thing!” Mrs. Hudson sobbed anew.

“It was too big,” Sherlock stated, heading back into the room after having done his solemn duty by the feral animal, “I’ll have to make some adjustments and try again.”

“Perhaps one that isn’t likely to rip your head off?” Lestrade suggested.

Sherlock blinked at him in confusion, “How would I know which was unlikely to be aggressive? They’re all strays; by their very definition they’re _wild animals_.”

“Seriously, Sherlock?” Lestrade scoffed, “Pick one that isn’t trying to eat the cage you put it in!”

“Animals aren’t that far from humans,” John supplied, “Look at them and deduce.”

Sherlock squatted down in the middle of his mess of cages and studied his test subjects with his eyes narrowed contemplatively. He went to take a cage that had a cowering cat in it, but John called him off.

“The more terrified the more likely to turn on you in a fit.”

Sherlock thought again and selected another mewling one. John’s heart went out to the creature, but it was a necessary evil. Sherlock had already explained that rats wouldn’t do because he had to be able to shrink and re-grow his subject and rats were simply too small. John thought he might have felt similarly sorry for the rats, though. A few minutes of silence passed and the tension began to grow. Lestrade extracted John from Mrs. Hudson and walked a few paces off with him.

“ _Will_ I be moving in?”

“I suppose,” John shrugged, “It’s Mrs. Hudson’s call, really, and she seems amicable.”

Lestrade looked frustrated, “You know what I mean, John. Am I _welcome_.”

John stared at him in confusion, “Of _course_ you’re welcome. You’re our boyfriend! We’ve only been living together for _years_ now, I don’t see why it would stop!”

Lestrade looked relieved and pressed a chaste kiss to John’s lips, “Just so long as this thing between us doesn’t change. I’ve fallen for you two hard, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Not anymore.”

Worry passed through John, _What if it_ does _change?_ However, Lestrade had been soothed and he walked back over to where Mrs. Hudson was sitting on a pin-free tomato shaped pincushion and staring worriedly towards the still silent bedroom.

The door opened and Sherlock strode out with a tiny cat on the palm of his hand. He offered the creature a bit of tuna and milk, muttering praises half-heartedly, and then returned to the bedroom without glancing in their direction. An hour later he re-emerged- to their relief- with a gigantic cat on his heals.

“Meet Sasha,” Sherlock stated, “She’ll be living in 221C.”

John groaned, Mrs. Hudson looked horrified, and Lestrade laughed. Sherlock just petted the gigantic calico and offered it a steak from the fridge.

“Oi! Those were for celebrating!” John scolded, “I had Molly pick those up special!”

“We _are_ celebrating,” Sherlock scoffed, then headed over to the table to glance them over, “Who’s first?”

“Ladies first, Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson scolded, then in a soft voice whispered, “I’ve lived my full anyway.”

Sherlock gently scooped her up, pressing a kiss to her tiny head, and left John and Lestrade to hide from a curious Sasha.

“He’d better hurry!” John called, from the overturned tea mug he’d cowered under.

Lestrade, much taller and unable to crawl into something so small, had tugged the laptop lid up and was hiding beneath it. John was terrified that the cat would step on it and crush him, but Mrs. Hudson distracted the feline by emerging from the bedroom with a cheerful salutation. She was in her dressing gown and shooed the cat away before telling them she’d get herself dressed and come right back up. Sherlock selected Lestrade, giving John a scolding look for ‘being silly’.

“Playing in a teacup? Honestly, John.”

“GET THE CAT OUT OF HERE!” John shouted at him.

“Sasha! Come!” Sherlock ordered.

Sasha ignored him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, grabbed his riding crop, and _made_ her move. She gave him an irritated swipe, but it was halfhearted, and headed into the bedroom ahead of him. John breathed a sigh of relief and crawled out from under his teacup, drying his damp hair on an edge of a napkin.

“Now I’ll smell like PG Tips for days,” John sighed.

Sherlock stepped out a moment later and scooped John up.

“Where’s Greg?” John questioned.

“Naked on my bed where he belongs,” Sherlock smirked, “You’re next, my dear blogger.”

John’s cock gave an interested twitch, but he was far to anxious to become truly aroused. The last time he’d seen the device that had shrunk him down his first impression of it had been ‘ _Oh, no, Sherlock’s finally snapped and built a ray gun!_ ’. Now he was facing it once again, naked this time, and the terror wasn’t any less just because he knew the man standing behind it with goggles on and a mad-scientist grin was his lover. There was no swirly light as in movies, only the device itself flashed and flickered, and that was more like a camera shot than a ‘ray gun’. Instead he felt a nauseating shift in the floor, his head became horrifically heavy and he toppled to the ground he’d been standing on as though gravity had turned against him with a vengeance for all the times humanity had dared to venture into the air. He blacked out, but when he came to he felt quite fine except for the chill.

“All right?” Sherlock inquired from one knee at his side.

“Yes, I think,” John replied, sitting up slowly with Sherlock’s hand gentle on his shoulder.

“Not sick?” Sherlock asked.

“No, though I was during the process, am I alright?”

“Stand and we’ll find out.”

John managed to get to his feet with little assistance and glanced over to where Lestrade was lying on his side on the bed grinning. The man was half-hard, the state John had gotten used to seeing him in.

“I hope I’m half as ‘eager’ as you are at your age,” John scoffed.

“Oi, you’re not much younger than me!” Lestrade scolded with a laugh, “Don’t let the grey hair fool you, I’ve got _excellent_ blood flow.”

Sherlock had pulled out a measuring tape and taken John’s measurements while they’d been flirting.

“You’re a centimeter taller. I suggest you keep it unless you develop any sort of pain or discomfort. You will tell me immediately if your joints bother you, especially your back.”

John nodded and Sherlock tossed the measuring tape aside and snogged him without preamble. John moaned into the kiss, his arms wrapping eagerly around Sherlock’s slim waist.

A cold nose the size of a hand prodding his backside brought him out of his distracted state.

“Get the cat out of here,” John muttered against Sherlock’s lips when the man misinterpreted his thrust forward and simply moaned about it.

“Get the cat in the bedroom, get the cat _out of_ the bedroom. Is the cat all you can think about?” Sherlock snarked as he chased the animal out the door.

“When it’s the size of a tiger and sniffing my arse, yes.”

Lestrade guffawed, “John, you always did have a way with the ladies, but I never thought I’d see the day when a pussy would sniff you!”

John and Lestrade laughed together while Sherlock gave them a baffled look. John settled it by tugging the man into bed with them and pressing him in between them.

“We’re going to need a bigger bed,” Lestrade complained as he palmed Sherlock’s privates.

Sherlock gasped and arched up, his face flushing and eyes going wide. John recalled then that their lover was completely virginal and reached down to grasp Lestrade’s wrist and slow him down. He gave him a warning glance and saw realization cross his face, followed by a questioning look. John touched his hand to his chest and silently asked to be first with him. Lestrade nodded with a smile, his eyes warm and tender. John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock gently, his tongue prodding his mouth open with lazy intent. Sherlock sighed into his mouth and relaxed beneath him at the gentler approach while Lestrade slowly stroked him to hardness.

Sherlock groaned deeply beneath them, writhing subtly as Lestrade distracted Sherlock with hands and mouth while John gently spread his legs and opened his body up for their first time together. Sherlock trembled but otherwise showed no sign of worry; he seemed utterly trusting of his two lovers. John enjoyed the feel of Sherlock’s angular body, the way his greedy hole sucked at his fingers and the perfect shape of his pert bottom. His almost feminine buttocks was in perfect counterpoint to his sharp hipbones, which John lathed with kisses and nips until Sherlock twitched and gasped beneath him. Sherlock’s contentment did amazing things to John’s libido and he found himself panting with desire as he slicked his cock and settled between Sherlock’s thighs.

He didn’t press in immediately, though. Instead he watched as Lestrade suckled at Sherlock’s nipples until the man made a grab for his cock as his arousal became unbearable. John caught his wrists and pinned them down, moaning softly as Sherlock writhed on the bed in protest, crying out softly as his hips bucked up in search of friction. Sherlock’s eyes were glazed with desire and he was clearly struggling to keep himself together.

“Let go, Sher,” John whispered, pressing a kiss to his tight bollocks, “Let us see you fall apart. You can trust us that much.”

Sherlock let out a strangled cry and began to struggle in earnest, freeing his hands to tangle one in Lestrade’s grey locks and grasp John’s wrist with the other. He pressed John’s hand to his cock and humped it helplessly as he all but sobbed in tortured arousal. Lestrade moved to Sherlock’s neck where he suckled possessive love marks into his neck and bit at his collar. Sherlock’s hand _pulled_ Lestrade’s hair, but John well knew the man loved it rough so this was only followed by a growl of approval from their silver fox. John was gently massaging Sherlock’s bollocks and giving his cock only enough attention to keep Sherlock from going mad without bringing him over the edge.

“John! Greg! Please! Oh, gods, _please_! I-I-I c-can’t…!”

John swallowed Sherlock’s cock down and the man pulsed into his mouth with a strangled cry as John slipped a finger back inside and gently stroked his p-spot. Sherlock went limp on the bed, whimpering and looking utterly debauched with his face and torso covered in a gorgeous sex-flush. John and Lestrade practically attacked each other’s mouths, teeth clicking as they snogged each other senseless with Sherlock watching below them.

“Gorgeous,” Sherlock whispered, “You’re both gorgeous. _Take me_.”

John moaned and broke the contact with Lestrade. He lay across Sherlock’s body, kissing him tenderly as he lined up his cock. Sherlock lifted his legs, grasping beneath his knees to hold himself at the perfect angle. Lestrade saved them from awkwardness by pressing a pillow beneath Sherlock’s hips. John gave him a grateful glance and then slid slowly into paradise. Sherlock gasped, whimpered, then wrapped his arms and legs tightly around John’s body. John stilled, just the head breaching Sherlock’s muscle ring, and waited for a count of ten. Sherlock relaxed at eight and John slowly slid further inside of him, pulling out a bit when tension increased and then pressing forward when Sherlock’s body welcomed him once more. Beside him John could hear Lestrade sighing, whispering encouragement and endearments, and slowly stroking himself. John glanced aside to give him a warning glance _Don’t you dare come_ and then returned his focus to Sherlock.

Finally he was fully seated inside of Sherlock, his tight bollocks pressed to the man’s shapely rear. When their eyes met he saw Sherlock at his most vulnerable, eyes wide with fear and hope as he laid spread and skewered by one of the men he loved. Lestrade, who had rested his head on the mattress beside Sherlock’s head and was gently caressing his face and pressing tender kisses to anyplace he could reach, was soothing that fear away as John focused on Sherlock’s body.

“You’re gorgeous,” John panted, “So tight around me. I love you, Sherlock, and we’re going to take care of you for the rest of our lives.”

Sherlock’s eyes became damp and he closed them, turning his head away in self-defense. They allowed it, just this once. John pressed his face to Sherlock’s shoulder and slowly pulled halfway out before pressing inside again. He was angling to hit Sherlock’s prostate but he seemed to have missed it. He pulled out further and tried again and Sherlock gasped and wriggled beneath him.

“Too much?” John asked, forcing himself not to simply fuck Sherlock with abandon.

“N-no. More. Keep g-“

John needed no further incentive and set up a slow, but steady pace as he moaned hungrily into Sherlock’s shoulder. He pressed kisses to the man’s shoulder, chest, and collar as he began to speed up. Sherlock didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. He kept lifting them and then dropping them again. He put them hesitantly on John’s shoulders and smoothed them down his back and then jerked them away as if burnt. Lestrade whispered into his ear and Sherlock tangled one hand in John’s hair put the other on his un-scarred shoulder. John moaned encouragement and Sherlock’s grip tightened as his confidence soared.

He couldn’t deny his own arousal forever and was soon lifting his upper torso off the bed to better plunge into the man below him. He opened his eyes and looked down at the detective to find his anxiety gone and his face full of pleasure. Sherlock had released John’s head and now had both hands planted on his shoulder’s his grip encouraging. Sherlock was alternating between watching John move over top of him, his eyes taking in John’s tensing chest with obvious pleasure, and sharing hungry kisses with Lestrade. He was starting to harden again and the sight of that long, thin cock twitching against Sherlock’s abdomen sent thrills down John’s body.

“Oh, gods!” John gasped, “I’m close!”

“Yessss,” Sherlock hissed, and clenched his muscles demandingly.

“Bast-“ John gasped out, and then came with a strangled cry, pumping his hips minutely to possessively fill Sherlock with his spunk.

John paused a moment, gasping and letting himself bask in the pleasure, and then slid free as he saw Lestrade greedily lubing up his own cock. Sherlock grinned proudly at his accomplishment as Lestrade and John switched places. John grabbed a fistful of those curls and kissed him hungrily.

“You brilliant, sexy man,” John gasped as they broke free.

“John, I…” Sherlock started and then stopped with a gasp, a fleeting look of pain crossing his face.

John glanced down angrily, but saw that Lestrade was indeed moving cautiously.

“He’s thicker than you,” Sherlock breathed, but the look on his face contained admiration rather than fear or pain now that he’d gotten past the initial burn of entry, “I love the way _both_ of you feel.”

Sherlock sounded shocked and John watched as he threw his arms around Lestrade’s neck and moaned as his cock thickened further. John reached down between them to stroke it as they held each other closely. It was a tight fit, but he was able to get his lubricated hand between them and give Sherlock a tight passage to thrust into. His eyes flew wide and he gasped, arching his back and digging in his heels. Lestrade let out that sexy growl that drove John wild when the man was taking him, which also usually signified his impending release. John gave Sherlock’s cock a squeeze and the detective gasped, his cock throbbing eagerly. He was close, but it was too soon for him to come just yet. John was secretly glad.

“Sherlock,” Lestrade gasped, “Gotta come.”

Sherlock nodded mutely, too undone by pleasure to make any noise beyond gulping air. Lestrade stiffened, his back curling as he buried himself deeply and grunted out his release. John gloried in watching him from this angle; he was primal passion, teeth clenched and muscles flexing as he took his pleasure with wild abandon. John grinned as the man tossed his head like a horse before slowly sliding free and giving John’s hand around Sherlock’s cock a naughty grin.

“You know what John loves even more than fucking someone?” Lestrade growled.

Sherlock moaned and squirmed, his eyes still glazed with desire. He was drenched in sweat and saturated with lube across his arse, cock, and abdomen. He was the picture of submissive sexual abandon, and for a moment John wondered if Sherlock would _want_ to top him, but the man knocked his hand aside and switched gears with relish and the grin he gave John was predatory. John was so eager to receive him that he didn’t even fight it as he was flipped over and Sherlock pressed close, but luckily Lestrade restrained him from simply burying himself inside. He showed Sherlock how to stretch John, though the man must have had some experience in such a thing since he’d prepared himself. Perhaps his enthusiasm had gotten he better of him or he’d thought John was active enough to not need preparation.

Of course, the feel of those long fingers pressing inside his body was nothing short of divine and John was happily celebrating his short refractory period as he hardened once more. He knew that Lestrade almost never came twice in one day- not without having been denied for a few days before hand- so they were coming to the end of their glorious ménage à trois*.

Sherlock found John’s prostate without any urging from Lestrade and John was soon groaning in pleasure and thrusting back, fucking himself eagerly on those three willowy digits. When he looked over his shoulder to give Sherlock an inviting look he found him staring at his arse with a look of wonder on his face.

_“Fascinating_ ,” Sherlock whispered, then leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the small of John’s back.

“It’s even better inside,” John grunted, and Lestrade chuckled and called him a cock-slut.

“If the name fits,” John half-laughed, gripping his arsecheeks and spreading them eagerly for Sherlock, “Fuck me, Sherlock. _Hard_.”

Sherlock groaned and slipped his finger’s free. John glanced over his shoulder in time to see the most beautiful sight of Lestrade stroking his glistening hand over Sherlock’s long, slender cock. He was kissing his neck and pinching his nipples with his free hand. Sherlock’s head was thrown back in bliss, his hands massaging John’s glutes almost reflexively as pleasure took him higher and higher.

“If you make him come before he’s inside me I’ll _never_ forgive you,” John growled.

Lestrade chuckled and released an annoyed Sherlock who turned wild on him and pounced like a tiger. John moaned as Sherlock slid into him, glorying in the burn of his fast entry. Sherlock had no hesitation, he simply took John as though he owned him, and John was in no mood to argue the fact- especially since it was probably true. Lestrade flopped down to watch them, his eyes glittering with enjoyment, as Sherlock plundered John’s body and the doctor encouraged it with eager noises and greedy thrusts back against his throbbing member.

Lestrade reached down to encourage them along and John found himself being stroked with a firm and talented hand. For a moment his brain couldn’t figure out which way to thrust and they lost rhythm. Sherlock growled in irritation and gripped John’s hips painfully, which only excited the doctor more. John was on edge, close to his second climax in an hour, and eagerly chasing it at the same time as he reveled in the feel of Sherlock coming apart behind him.

“Johhhn!” Sherlock moaned, “Greg! Fuck!”

John echoed those sentiments, moaning his lover’s names. Greg whispered them tenderly and gave John’s cock a sensual twist that brought him tumbling over the edge. He felt himself spilling over Lestrade’s talented fingers and moaned appreciatively as the man milked his cock just to the edge of too much.

“OH MY GODS!” Sherlock shouted, and pressed as deeply as he could as he flooded John’s passage.

John went as limp as he could with his arse in the air. Sherlock was breathing so hard he was wheezing a bit, but John wasn’t overly concerned. The man’s grip on his hips was still punishingly hard, so he couldn’t be lacking in oxygen.

“That was… Oh, John. Greg,” Sherlock eased out of him and collapsed on his back on John’s other side.

Lestrade slung his arm over John’s torso and rested his palm on Sherlock’s heaving chest as John lowered himself fully onto his sticky belly and sighed in relief.

“I’m a bit sore,” Sherlock pouted.

“Well, you would be,” John laughed, “Next time I’ll take you both, okay?”

“Greedy,” Lestrade teased, moving his hand to give John’s bottom a gentle smack.

“You know it!” John laughed.

“I’d like to go second, I think I may have a bit of a kink about fucking Lestrade’s semen inside of you.”

John and Lestrade gave Sherlock a heated look and he smirked wickedly. John broke the mood by snickering.

“Come on, Mr. Consulting Detective,” John smiled, “Let’s get cleaned up and put some lotion on your bright red nether eye.”

“Bright red nether… don’t ever call it that again,” Sherlock replied with a look of disgust, but he got up and followed a laughing John into the bathroom.

 

·Ménage à trois ([French](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_language) pronunciation: [[menaʒ‿a tʁwɑ]](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Help:IPA_for_French)) is a French term which originally described a domestic arrangement in which three people having [sexual relations](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_relations) occupy the same household – the phrase literally translates as "household of three". (I was unaware that this didn’t mean ‘threesome’ until today. Live and learn! Since it is regularly used to mean that, I’m going to keep it anyway.)

[ CHAPTER FIFTEEN ](http://vincentmeoblinn.dreamwidth.org/11746.html)


	15. vincentmeoblinn | The Dollhouse 15

Five Years Later…

John finished the last stitch on the wound on Sherlock’s arm, tied it off, and snipped the thread. Sherlock’s eyes were slightly dazed, but that was probably more due to Lestrade sucking him off than the pain from John’s stitching. Sherlock had explained his discomfort of doctors had to do with needles since it brought up cravings from his former drug habit. Now that John knew that he would have Sherlock suitably distracted with pleasure whenever he was injured and then heal him without any local anesthetic. Sherlock was becoming quite the glutton for pain and had occasionally asked John to work him over when he _wasn’t_ injured, but that was not today.

Now that he was healed up, John gently pushed Sherlock onto his back, Lestrade noticing the movement and rising slowly to his feet so that he could continue bobbing his head between Sherlock’s legs. John, meanwhile, was checking Sherlock’s pulse and felt his own speed up to match it. He didn’t want his lover going into shock, of course, but there was a certain thrill to reducing Sherlock to a panting, wide-eyed, mess. His heartrate slowed again once he released his lover’s wrist and he calmly picked up a pair of straight hemostat clamps. Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but only a little squeak came out. John clamped one onto each nipple and watched Sherlock flush, squirm, adjust to the pain, and relax back onto the table.

“I’m so glad Sarah doesn’t mind me keeping a key to the clinic,” John stated conversationally, “It makes patching you up after you’ve done something idiotic that much easier. Speaking of which, you’ve been _very_ bad, Sherlock.”

Sherlock groaned and Lestrade moaned around his cock, but John gripped Lestrade by his hair and pulled him off. Sherlock’s cock twitched and he looked as though he were about to come, but his testicles dropped as the cool air hit his sensitive, wet cockhead. Sherlock was panting with arousal, but he made no further protests. He knew he’d be more than satisfied in the end.

John calmly picked up a sterilized ribbed double sound from his kit and glanced over at Lestrade. Lestrade went pale and began to undo his trousers. When John took on his doctor persona he became the undisputed Top in their relationship. John placed the sound back and filled a needle-less syringe with lubricant and pressed it to the tip of Sherlock’s throbbing cock. He plunged down and the cold liquid filled his lover’s cock, making Sherlock gasp and squirm. His cock softened a bit, but John stroked it back to life with a firm, gloved hand that slid up and down his cock with ease thanks to the overflow of lubricant and Lestrade’s saliva. Sherlock looked both anxious and excited and John had no hesitation when it came to leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You will be so good when I’m done with you,” He whispered.

Lestrade was fully undressed and had stroked himself hard. John turned and used the second syringe to fill his twitching cock with lubricant as well. Lestrade flushed and gasped, loving the full feeling inside his cock and glanced anxiously at the sound that John was currently stroking lubricant over. Lestrade helped Sherlock to his feet and the two men stood toe to toe and kissed each other gently for a moment. John separated them with a nudge and leveled the sound.

Since Sherlock’s steadiness on his feet was questionable, John started with him. He checked Sherlock’s pupils and pulse again; once he was certain that Sherlock wasn’t going to topple over he started to slide the sound into his cock. Sherlock let out a low whine as it slid inside of him, but it was one of excitement rather than pain. John made sure it was pressed to his prostate and then twisted it gently. Sherlock gasped, but was trained well enough not to buck.

Finished with Sherlock, John motioned for Lestrade to step forward and held the sound steady. Part of this ritual was getting Lestrade to unwind and give himself over to John, something that even after all this time he still struggled with. John held the sound steady so that it wouldn’t push painfully against Sherlock’s prostate, and nodded at Lestrade. The man swallowed convulsively and then held his own cock in hand and stepped forward. With his free hand John held the tip of the sound and Lestrade took another step forward and then leaned in to allow his cock to slowly swallow up the sound.

No matter how many times they did this Lestrade always looked shocked. When John asked him about it one day he had explained it with an equally shocked look.

_I can never believe how much I love it. How intense it feels to be slowly filled, each rib sliding into me and rubbing me in places that aren’t_ supposed _to feel good. Then it hits my prostate and I literally_ can’t _breathe, but I know if I buck or move too much it will hurt- maybe even injure me. So I stay still and I keep my eyes on you because I_ need _you to let me come. I can’t even look at Sherlock, because he’s as helpless as I am. So I stare at you… apparently with a look of shock on my mug._

Lestrade was staring at John now, his pupils blown and his breathing heavy, but his hips utterly steady. John smiled as the sound reached Lestrade’s prostate and the man’s eyelids fluttered closed for several breaths. When he opened them again John nodded in approval and looked down at the sound. There was no room between Sherlock and Lestrade’s cock, he’d had to move his fingers during the last inch, but Lestrade and Sherlock were experienced enough to be safe with what they were doing.

John studied Sherlock’s face; it was slack with pleasure and relaxation, a small smile dancing at the corners. Both his lover’s had completely different reactions to this game of theirs and he reveled in both. Now that they were both settled and had caught their breath John stepped back and picked up a clipboard upon which he recorded vitals and various observations. One of them was that the longer they were still the more frustrated Sherlock became while Lestrade slowly grew calm. Sadly, Lestrade’s cock was starting to stoften and he couldn’t have that. He reached out and stroked it to fullness, mostly by fondling the man’s heavy bollocks, before taking pity on their plight.

“You may begin,” He stated calmly, and adjusted the camera to capture both their faces and their bodies.

Lestrade and Sherlock slowly pulled back together, their hands holding their penis’ steady on the side opposite the camera, and then slowly slid back along the shaft. Lestrade got the full effect of the sound since it slid into him faster and his eyes rolled back into his head, jaw going slack, as it pressed relentlessly against his prostate. Sherlock was next and he moaned deeply, that sinful voice sending a shiver down John’s spine.

“Stop,” John ordered, then paused for effect while the men panted and resisted the urge to move, “Kiss. Slowly.”

It was an awkward maneuver, but one they had done before. Sherlock wrapped his hand in a fist around the tips of both their cocks to hold them steady while Lestrade gripped is curls and they lazily slid their lips and tongues together. Their tongues were visible, dancing and swirling together, while John panted off to one side and resisted the urge to simply stroke himself off. This wasn’t about him. This was about his lovers. Perhaps he’d come tonight, perhaps not.

“Stop. Resume thrusting.”

Lestrade growled in frustration but Sherlock grinned like an evil villain and leaned back before releasing their cocks. They went back to their mutual positions and resumed a slow thrust. Since Lestrade’s urethra was wider he tended to end up taking the brunt of the prostate prodding, so John had him pinch his cocka bit to slow it down, adjusting his fingers and showing him how much pressure to use. This helped the man to enjoy the sensations more and he was soon dripping sweat, his eyes closed as his entire focus became the bump, bump, bump of the sound sliding into his cock over each rounded ridge until it pressed against his prostate and left him gasping in pleasure.

Sherlock was completely focused on the task at hand. His eyes were open, but glazed. His full lips parted as he panted out his pleasure; every once in a while his talented tongue would wet those perfect lips and test John’s resolve to remain in ‘doctor’ mode. However, it wasn’t until Sherlock reached the point where he was craving release that the man began to truly sweat. His eyes blinked rapidly for a moment as though he were waking from a dream, then they slid to the side to watch John.

John smiled, his expression purposely kept to the reassuring look he gave a patient when they were asking him ‘how much longer’ during a procedure. He knew this moment well. Soon Sherlock would begin to plead silently with his eyes. Then he would grimace just a bit. Then he’d bite that pouty bottom lip. Then he’d let out that frustrated sound that went straight to John’s bollocks and made them tense up. Then he’d reach that peak where verbal begging was possible and it was up to John to end it before then or let it start out and really drag it out.

Lestrade wouldn’t let his frustration show. He was completely focused on the act itself and the sensations being created. His breath would speed up, but he’d never hit the point of begging. The one time John had tried to push Lestrade to that point he’d lost his focus on Sherlock and inadvertently pushed the consulting detective too far, and the man had simply pulled off, dressed, and left them both without a word. He’d refused to speak to either of them for two days and John had been near tears with guilt. He wouldn’t let that happen again; he’d never let Sherlock’s trust in him laps again.

Sherlock was there now, his eyes wide and frantic, with just a hint of fear that John would abandon him again. He whimpered a bit, his bottom lip brutalized between those white teeth of his. He released the lip, closed his eyes a moment, and let out a keening noise that made Lestrade’s eyes fly open. The rugged, silver haired top stared at Sherlock hungrily and John suddenly knew how this would end. Instead of waiting it out he moved quickly around to Sherlock’s clenched buttocks and began to instruct him.

“I need you to relax your muscles, specifically your sphincter.”

Sherlock made that noise again, but his muscles relaxed and John pressed a lubed finger against his entrance and stroked it until Sherlock’s body let him in. The layer between John’s finger and Sherlock’s body was a reinforcing factor for John; it helped him focus on why he was doing this and what the outcome should be.

“I need you both to hold still, please.”

“Oh, gods!” Sherlock gasped, but Lestrade just grunted and their bodies stilled.

“This is going to be a bit awkward due to the angle, but I think we can manage,” John informed them, then went to fetch an anal speculum.

John carefully lubricated the plastic cold metal device, warming it with his hands, and then pressed it to Sherlock’s entrance. For a moment he thought it wouldn’t work, but Sherlock had enough experience with relaxing his muscles that the speculum slid in without difficulty. He let Sherlock adjust for a moment, listening to his deep breaths and then opened it only a crank and a half. There was no way he could open it fully with Sherlock standing, but this would be enough to prepare him for penetration. It also gave John access to slide his finger inside and prod his prostate from this angle. Sherlock gasped and then let out a desperate sound, as though in pain, and John took pity on his needy lover and removed his finger. He walked around him and gently assisted the two men in sliding off of the sound.

“Now, I need you both to keep steady, no touching unless it’s to hold off your orgasm. We aren’t done here,” John stated, his voice bordering on scolding.

The two men slid free of the sound and both grasped themselves, Lestrade holding the tip of his cock between fore finger and thumb while Sherlock tugged at his bollocks and held _very_ still. John gently helped Sherlock move over to the exam table, instructing him to take baby steps and very gently bending him over. His hands were gentle and supportive but professional, keeping Sherlock steady without straying to relieve his frustration. Once Sherlock was bent over the table he let out a sigh of relief and John had to make a grab for the speculum to avoid it sliding free as the man’s muscles relaxed. Lestrade was still taking steadying breaths, so John spent a moment stretching Sherlock further. Sherlock moaned at the feel of the cool air inside his body and John checked the tenseness in his bollocks before pressing two fingers against his prostate again. Sherlock bucked but made no noises, much to John’s disappointment.

Finally Lestrade was ready and John called him over. No words were needed, he simply slid the speculum free and lubricated Lestrade’s cock. The rest was instinct. Lestrade practically assaulted Sherlock, pouncing on him and thrusting inside that perfectly stretched body without hesitation. Sherlock swore and came hard on the first thrust, but Lestrade had been calmer than he as usual and took up a punishing pace that had Sherlock swearing and squirming away.

A hand on the small of Lestrade’s back, with barely any pressure applied, kept him from continuing to piston into their panting lover. Lestrade growled angrily, but obeyed the silent command. John slid a lubricated finger between those tense cheeks and stroked Lestrade’s hip until the man relaxed his muscles and John was able to slide into him.

“I’m not taking that thing standing up straight,” Lestrade snarled, referring to the speculum, “I’m not as loose as Sherlock is.”

“I am _not_ loose!” Sherlock replied, clearly insulted.

“Experienced, then,” Lestrade replied, rolling his eyes, but his hands stroked an apology along Sherlock’s lower back.

“Relax, boys,” John scolded lightly, “You know the rules. No unnecessary talking, and you I think of the three of us I’m the one who’s most experienced in receiving, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade grunted as John stilled behind him.

“Quite,” Sherlock sniffed proudly.

“And I’m not loose, am I?”

“Nooo,” Lestrade moaned as John took up a slow stroke on his prostate.

Sherlock only shook his head, his sweat-soaked curls bouncing a bit as he was rendered speechless by the sight of Lestrade’s face when he looked over his shoulder. John couldn’t see it from this angle, but he was thrilled to feel the man clenching and quivering around his digit.

Lestrade tried to thrust, but John grasped his hip and scolded teasingly, “Uh, uh.”

“John, please,” Lestrade gasped.

“Behave yourself, or I’ll strap you down.”

Lestrade made a drawn out ‘F’ noise, as though about to swear, but kept it contained.

“Very good, Greg,” John rewarded with a kiss to his shoulder, “Do you know what I’m doing right now?”

“T-torture?” Lestrade choked out.

“Close,” John chuckled, “I’m milking your prostate. You’re leaking come into Sherlock’s ass right now. If I keep it up there won’t be any left for you to come with. It’s all being drained away. What do you think about that?”

“I… I… that’s fucked up,” Lestrade replied, his tone bordering on frantic and aroused.

“Should I keep going?” John asked, still prodding his p-spot relentlessly while Lestrade remained sheathed in Sherlock’s tight heat.

“No! Wait… y-yes,” Lestrade replied, his voice cracking on the final word.

John leaned forward, allowing some heat to enter his voice, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Lestrade breathed, and John felt the final surrender as he entrusted himself completely to John’s ministrations, “John.”

“Greg,” John sighed in reply, his desire amping up at the soft whisper of his name.

“I can’t feel it,” Sherlock groused, “I want him to _fuck_ me!”

“Stroke yourself,” John ordered, “Get yourself hard again.”

“Why?” Sherlock pouted, but did as he was told.

Lestrade was groaning now, his tone full of agony and a twisted sort of excitement as John relentlessly drained his bollocks. He pulled on Lestrade’s hip until the man slipped free and watched as he leaked onto the floor.

“Look down, Greg. Do you see that? That’s your orgasm draining away.”

“Oh, fuck!” Lestrade gasped, and bucked his hip, his cock twitching hopefully, but John’s pressure was just shy of getting him off.

“This is called milking, by the way. Some men can’t drain completely, they stop after only a few drops. You’re doing _splendid_ , Greg.”

“C-can I touch?”

“No,” John replied firmly, with just a touch of reproach.

Sherlock was looking over his shoulder curiously, and finally turned around completely to watch. John didn’t stop him. He was finding the sight of the long string of semen pretty distracting as well. It had connected with the floor now, occasional beads traveling down to widen the small puddle forming on the lino below.

“Ohhh,” Lestrade breathed, and then leaned back against John’s chest.

John was peering around his shoulder, and now wrapped an arm around his chest to personalize their lovely moment together. Sherlock was watching them with a look bordering on jealous, but John’s heated smile promised him more love in a moment.

“I love you both so much,” John whispered as the viscous string disconnected from Lestrade’s cock and he let out a mournful sound, “Come around here, Sherlock.”

John bent Lestrade over the table while Sherlock circled around, his cock fully hard. John grabbed Sherlock’s speculum with a filthy grin and pressed it into Lestrade’s body. Sherlock looked horrified a moment, and then smirked back at John. He cranked it open slower than he would have for Sherlock. In their time together John could count the amount of times Lestrade had bottomed for _either_ of them on one hand. The mood today, however, matched that of the previous times. Lestrade was letting go, his body completely relaxed to both their ministrations despite his aching erection.

“John,” Lestrade sighed, apparently resigned to his lack of relief.

John lined Sherlock up, holding his cock for him as he pressed his clothed hips against Sherlock’s body and pressed him forward. Sherlock gasped as he slid into Lestrade, the speculum still in place. Sherlock gave John a lost look over his shoulder, so John stood on tiptoe to press a reassuring kiss to his lips.

“It doesn’t feel right,” Sherlock stated, shaking his head as his worry remained unrelieved.

“Give it a moment,” John replied, pressing him fully inside of Lestrade’s body.

Sherlock’s body stiffened and he gasped. Sherlock had reached the point where his cock had penetrated Lestrade’s flesh past the speculum. The tip of his cock was inside Lestrade’s body, warm and wet with lubricant. He let the man thrust a few times, saw the frustration cross his face, and guided him out. He removed the speculum without adjusting his position so that he was working around Sherlock’s thin body. Sherlock watched from this new angle with curiosity, his head cocked to one side, as Lestrade’s body tried to assume it’s natural state but failed to completely close.

“Back inside, you,” John instructed with a playful slap. He pulled his gloves off, then. They were long past medical kink now.

Sherlock pressed into Lestrade with a low groan, but was stilled before he could thrust away to his heart’s content. Instead, John lubed himself up and pressed inside of Sherlock’s wet orifice, groaning at the heat and the realization that some of _Greg_ was inside of Sherlock as well. Sherlock groaned at the breech and suffered that momentary confusion that John usually felt when in the midst of this situation. _Do I thrust forward or back?_

John settled it by pulling Sherlock’s hips back until just the tip remained inside Lestrade’s then he nudged Sherlock forward and the man began to snap his hips eagerly. John threw his head back in bliss, overwhelmed by the sudden friction as Sherlock went back and forth between fucking Lestrade and impaling himself on John’s cock. John held himself at the perfect angle and groaned in pleasure as Sherlock panted towards a second release, driven wild by the feel of every inch of himself being stimulated. John added to his pleasure by rubbing the nubs still trapped between the forceps. John quickly removed both and Sherlock let out a pained cry, his hips stuttering as blood rushed back into the punished nipples.

“Ohgodsohgodsoh _gods_!”

John moaned out Sherlock’s name, Lestrade echoed it with a soft, loving whisper. Sherlock all but sobbed as his second climax tore through his body. John was disappointed for only a moment, but then heard Lestrade let out a startled shout and begin to frantically stroke himself. The two man behind him stilled and watched with baited breath as Lestrade stroked himself through a dry orgasm, his cries of pleasure projecting his level of shock as he convulsed in pleasure.

John began to thrust again, chasing his own orgasm, but took mercy on Sherlock and kept his cock away from his abused prostate. Sherlock reached a hand back and lovingly stroked John’s hip.

“My dear doctor,” Sherlock spoke in that deep voice.

John grunted out his release with a few stuttering thrusts and sighed in relief.

XXXXXXXXXXX

John leaned back in the cab, his arm around Sherlock’s waist as the man focused his extraordinary attention on his mobile. Lestrade’s arm was around John’s shoulders as John rubbed the man’s thigh gently. The three of them were exausted, especially Sherlock who hadn’t slept for the last three days as he eagerly chased after a robber who had managed to escalate to murder. Of course, it had turned out to be two different crimes, or at the very least two different criminals. The robber of the first crime had been the murderer of the second, dragging his father along for the ride. It had all been over a lawsuit in which the robbery victim and the two murderers were disputing the ownership of some land between their two sizable properties. The murder victim had been a servant who had found out too much and foolishly decided to blackmail his bosses. John had remarked how odd it was that two families who both owned so much would argue over so little, even resorting to murder to keep their pride. Sherlock had shrugged without caring, likely not understanding their motives on a personal level. Lestrade had given John a look that said he adored the fact that John wasn’t yet numb to the whole murder-victim cycle. Then they’d headed to the clinic to patch up the injury Sherlock had received from the younger murderer when they’d caught him collecting evidence, and the rest was sexy history.

The cab stopped at 221B and the three tired men climbed the stairs. The first bedroom had become Sherlock’s lab so that the rest of the flat wasn’t overwhelmed by his work. The bedroom upstairs featured a king-size bed and not much else. They took turns showering; John making chamomile tea while Lestrade went first, followed by Sherlock, and then John. Finally they climbed into bed after they had worked together to force Sherlock to eat a sandwich. Finally, lax with sleep despite the sun rising behind their blackout curtains, they fell into deep repose.

Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson quietly let herself into 221B. She was carrying a small bag of groceries for her over-worked tenants. Right before the last case Sherlock had been overseas for a week and had suffered a collapse for his efforts. John had only just nursed him back to health before _this_ case had ended with him injured.

Mrs. Hudson put the groceries away, wrote a note on the table for the boys, then headed into the living room where a Victorian dollhouse stood on the table the boys usually ate at. It had newspapers pushed up against it and she tutted at their carelessness. She straightened up the table so the dollhouse was allowed to show its prize position in their home as it was meant to. With a final nod of satisfaction she left the flat to meet Molly for brunch.


End file.
